


Not Exactly a Secret

by MorriganFearn



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuuin no Tsurugi | Fire Emblem: Sword of Seals
Genre: Ensemble Cast, Light Masochism, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 99,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1433533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorriganFearn/pseuds/MorriganFearn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not exactly a secret that Rutger has some aggression to work through. It is a bit of a surprise that Dieck is interested in this. But as the first half year of the War Against Bern rolls on, the status quo they create begins to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the Road to Thria

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruingaraf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruingaraf/gifts).



> This was a fill for the Dreamwidth Kinkmeme that got a little out of hand. The prompt was "Rutger is predictably agressive in bed--biting, scratching, possibly even blood or knife play. Dieck is quite possibly masochistic and is very okay with this. Alternately, hilarity ensues when Dieck's lack of a shirt leaves absolutely nothing they did the previous night to the imagination, and Rutger turns out to have no shame. BEXP for Rutger being a possessive asshole and Dieck laughing in his face instead of gently reassuring him." This fill got a little more intense than the hilarity asked for, but that's where the humor will mostly be found. The fill is finished, and is about 12 chapters long, I'll be updating once a week, just so I have time to do the edits.
> 
> I am treating Rutger as though he is dealing with PTSD from a recent trauma, and trying to work through that in a variety of ways. As always, any constructive criticism is welcome, and that is doubly true for anyone who wants to talk about this aspect of the story, how I'm handling it, where I'm misstepping. If you've got thoughts, please make them known. Thanks for reading.

The mountains of Lycia were torturous. Rutger had expected to be killing Bern soldiers pouring over the passes, but Roy was taking them through the supposedly safer bandit country on the Lycian lowlands—which were only low in comparison to their northeastern cousins on the other side of the border. Mountains were mountains, and Rutger hated traveling through them without a smooth road to follow. Without knowing he was striking at his enemies, there was nothing to make up for the fact that he spent his days plodding tiredly uphill until his legs ached, sliding treacherously downhill, half-terrified that the whole party would fall off the sheer mountainside, and his nights exhausted and cold.

Almost nothing, anyway. One particularly bandit free day, after chipper assurances from the Lycians that Thria was only four days away, at most, Rutger had noticed Dieck alone at the stream they had camped near, refilling his water skin.

For someone whose taste in swords ran to the ridiculously heavy and excessive, the mercenary commander was quick on his feet, and Rutger hadn't been able to catch him alone to test his mettle since Laus. Deciding to begin the dance again, Rutger grabbed his sword, and slid into the bushes, away from camp.

Cresting the ridge of the stream bank Rutger watched the scarred back from the shadow of the trees. Those scars had been made when Dieck was younger no doubt, but memories of the way Dieck had blurred away from Rutger's sword only a week ago woke a bitter anger in Rutger. The myrmidon's speed gave Rutger his pay and his chance at revenge, and this huge Ilian mercenary had dodged. He had refused to even meet Rutger's blade, choosing to grin and shrug off the attack, retreating when Rutger pressed him. Dieck should be wearing at least one scar from Rutger's slim blade. Just a cut, to show the world that Rutger was better than those earlier scar makers.

In the noise of camping and getting tents out of the carter's wagon floating over the ridge, he should have gone unnoticed. But Dieck turned, looking puzzled as he scanned the undergrowth. “Thany? What are you—”

He leaped to one side as Rutger rushed from the left. Scowling, Rutger circled, backing Dieck towards the stream. Yes, the mercenary was looking for ways to retreat. He hadn't even drawn the massive iron blade strapped to his back. No matter. Today Rutger would _make_ him fight back.

His sword licked out, testing the air. It missed caressing Dieck's side by a hair. His target had known that, standing very still, a look of bemused surprise on his face. Then, under a series of lightning jabs, he dashed to the right, rolling back as Rutger's sword snaked out ahead of him.

“C'mon. You're not doing this. We're trying to defeat the same enemy, remember?” Dieck backed up a step, remaining in the space Rutger allowed him. Cool water, glowing bright in the sunset whipped merrily along behind him.

Rutger watched his target. “I need to know your strength as my ally, and you keep running from me.”

“Then my strength is in my legs,” the easy retort made Rutger's irritation burn brighter. “Look,” Dieck added, taking another step back, “burning up all your energy chasing me isn't the way to keep up your skills. And it's certainly not going to help mine if you cut me up.”

Rutger almost dropped his guard in surprise that Dieck actually seemed to understand his reasons for their fights, and then remembered the conversation they had about boredom. Dieck wasn't so much a quick learner, as he was good at remembering what he had heard. “You're my equal or superior with your style of swordsmanship. When I can mark you in combat, I can be sure of myself. Just as you can be sure of yourself against warriors like me.”

Dieck rolled his eyes. “At some point this has got to stop. I'm sick of having to check every shadow for you.”

“You'll thank me for the practice, eventually,” Rutger stepped forward, pleased that he could herd Dieck into the disadvantageous ground of the stream, without the mercenary noticing. “You might even like the battles themselves.”

“Probably not in the way you think.”

Rutger paused, confused by the off hand response, and like a flash, Dieck kicked water into his eyes before lunging forward, and tacking him to the silt and stones left by the spring floods. Sudden bruising pain swamped him, but Rutger dropped his sword and slammed his knee into Dieck's stomach. Dieck gasped from lack of air, and Rutger shoved his shoulder, toppling the scarred body, and trapping his weapon.

Grabbing his sword again, Rutger rolled on top of Dieck, trying hard not to grin at the rush of small victories. “Nice trick.”

“I'm so happy you liked it,” Dieck muttered, laying still under him. “Now that you've won, can we stop this now?”

“I've secured a victory,” Rutger corrected, looking down at the perforated skin of Dieck's face and chest. He frowned, seeing round, tightly drawn scars over older paler lines. Someone had burned the mercenary at some point. Burns like this didn't happen in a battle. Dieck should only wear scars from his lucky opponents. “But I didn't mark you. I haven't won yet.”

He sat back, noticing that his weight wasn't making Dieck wince, even when he shifted. The mercenary commander was ridiculously strong, and yet was choosing to lie still under him. Something swooped in his stomach, and Rutger wasn't sure if he should be irritated that Dieck wasn't fighting him when he could be, or pleased that Dieck had chosen to give in to his victory. Admittedly, he was probably giving in out of laziness, Rutger thought sourly, and he leaned forward again, pressing his sword to Dieck's throat.

“You should _fight_ me.”

“It's been a long day, and I'm tired.”

“That's no excuse,” Rutger snarled, though it had been a long day, and he was glad to be resting here and not moving. “I'll cut you, if you don't fight back.”

“And then you'll claim victory and leave me alone?” Dieck grinned. “I'm willing, if that's what this takes.”

Rutger scowled at him, and threw down his sword. “I know you're better than this. You're a real challenge, and you turn around and—You can't win by giving up!”

“I have most of my life,” Dieck countered softly. “Besides, I want to know how far you'd press me. I don't like fighting beside people I can't predict.”

Rutger glared. “I want to carve you into pieces. I want everyone to look at you, and know that you were _my_ opponent. But I want to _earn_ it.”

Under his thighs, he could feel Dieck's breathing hitch in the middle of his rant, and as Rutger ended it, Dieck pushed himself into a sitting position, ignoring the lighter mercenary's weight on his abdomen. Rutger hissed at how easily he was displaced onto Dieck's lap. Then his eyes widened, as something poked him from below.

Dieck grinned a little lopsidely. “Now that's an expression I didn't think I'd see on your face. It looks a lot better than anger, malice, fury, and more anger.”

“We were _fighting_.”

“And I don't really want to be fighting.”

Rutger saw enough sense in that to lunge forward, pushing Dieck back into the mud, kissing him with more teeth than tongue. Gratifyingly, Dieck didn't even try to push him off. He might even be welcoming the aggression. Surprisingly, his strong hands found Rutger's thighs and held on, pressing their bodies together through wet trousers. As Rutger bit down on the captured lower lip, he felt Dieck grinding against him.

In the euphoric burst of friction and hard heat, Rutger realized he was being allowed far more leeway just kissing than he ever had been given before. A certainty stole over him. Whatever he did, even if it left bruises, or ripped open skin, Dieck wouldn't object. He reached for Dieck's throat, tilting the firm jaw so that he could bite deeper. In the morning, Dieck would still feel Rutger's teeth on his skin, and he wouldn't be able to walk straight—

Rutger pulled away, trying to contain his surprise at how far this was going. Annoyingly calm, as far as Rutger could see, despite swollen lips and glazed eyes, Dieck breathed for a few moments, before raising an eyebrow in Rutger's direction. “You'd prefer to continue chopping me up after that? Wow, you _are_ single minded.”

Rutger sneered. “Not if you kick your mercenary buddies out of your tent tonight.”

The easy relaxation suddenly hardened. “No.”

“I don't have a tent, yet. Are they going to like seeing their captain getting fucked until he bleeds?”

Dieck chuckled. “That's your plan? No. They wouldn't like that.”

“So kick them out. I don't like interruptions.”

Dieck shook his head. “You get a tent. Or we could do this outside,” but Dieck was frowning at the stones leading up the the banked ridge.

Rutger followed his gaze. “You're not going to want to be picking that out of your hands and knees in the morning.”

“You're a real romantic,” Dieck paused, hearing the bang of a cauldron that was the call for supper. In the growing shadows of sundown, Rutger watched hungry eyes flick from the springy pine trees protecting the camp to Rutger and back. There was some form of invisible calculation, and the breath that Dieck let out when he made up his mind shivered up Rutger's chest. “Fine. Nobody will be in the tent until moonrise, now. I'm yours for that long. Now let me up. My back hurts.”

Rutger kissed him one last time, instead, licking at the coppery taste from the earlier wounds. His until moonrise. Rutger liked the sound of that enough that he helped Dieck up, and didn't even make any comments about the way Dieck's wet trousers left nothing to the imagination about his interests that evening.


	2. From Thria to Ostia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rutger didn't expect to get along with Dieck on their way to Ostia. He certainly didn't expect Dieck to steal his kill from him in Ostia. Maybe that's why he accepts a bet when they get together after the victory.

It had been funny, the first time Ward walked into the tent and caught sight of his captain tangled under Rutger, detached pleasure written on his features, even as one brawny arm was wrenched up his back and Rutger's eyes flashed with savage delight. As Ward backed out of the tent protesting that he hadn't seen anything, they surprised each other by laughing together. Then Rutger bit down on Dieck's earlobe, because when he licked the skin behind it Dieck would always twitch and stifle a moan. As far as Rutger was concerned, any part of his opponent that produced that reaction was his to claim.

It was still funny when the young boy in green armor had come up to Rutger and suggested, very seriously, that he consider the fact that strange rumors were spreading about him, and giving some of the younger fighters stranger ideas. Rutger watched the boy go red in silence, and couldn't help wondering why the cavalier was trying to hide behind a thick book entitled “Military Discipline” as the serious speech stuttered off into halting insinuations.

Later, he discovered the boy had been asking Dieck about the impossibility of maintaining unit cohesion when rogue elements were introduced. Curious, Rutger asked what Dieck would do if Rutger was under his command, rather than being a freelance mercenary without a company. The rolling tumble of the ensuing fight ended with Rutger on his back, struggling happily as Dieck pinned his arms above his head and rode him. Under summer stars, Rutger gasped and didn't even mind too much that the next day he was the one with bruises decorating his spine. He even liked the ones on his wrists, thumbprints showing that he'd fought back and not given in despite being overwhelmed.

He _had_ minded running into the young Sacaen girl as he returned to his bedroll, though.

In the dark she had looked like a ghost from the past, and he was struck by the fact that he was alive and not avenging the lady he'd run errands for as a child, or the boy from the trading wagons who told him he kissed too hard, or the sisters who had giggled and challenged him to foot races every time they came into town, their long juniper green hair flowing behind them. The pure blooded Lady Sue had smiled quietly in the dark, and mentioned something about listening to the summer breezes, they had such a different voice in Lycia. Rutger had retreated quickly, feeling suddenly hollow after the earlier fierce joy.

That encounter had put him in the right mindset when they entered Ostia, however. He felt like an invincible tornado, tearing into the Lycians who had thrown their lot in with Bern. Then, while one of the younger children carefully made their way around Castle Ostia's protective wall, looking for the weak points Roy assured the company were there, the thudding of his heart was replaced by the pounding of hooves. Rutger whirled around, and saw the wall of ocher and black pounding up the road, devices on shields invisible from this distance, but almost certainly from Bern's noble houses.

As though they had rehearsed this move and it was not a sudden mad rout, the army scattered, running for ambush points in the city, readying defensive positions. The reinforcements cantered into the main square of Ostia, drawing apart as they went after one and then another part of the army showing itself as bait. Rutger dove out of a doorway, startling a brown mare into rearing, tossing her rider sideways. In the instant of the crash onto the cobbles, Rutger grabbed the spare sword from the cavalier's saddle, and stabbed at the joints of the armor. His own slashing sword would never have gone between the man's plated protection.

As he turned away from the grisly work, an eagle flashed from a shield, catching his eye. He drew in a breath, recognition tingling in his stomach. Wearing the colors of command, a silver lance flashing about in the fray, a paladin danced with the Ilian cavaliers. As his white charger whirled around a lance thrust, Rutger saw the same sneering face that had pronounced him true blooded, and better than the vermin.

The knight was tiring, but the mercenary knights of Ilia faltered under his lance. Three slashes had turned the white charger nearly as scarlet as its barding. Rutger saw his opening. He ran, stolen sword readied to stab, when Dieck rolled between the horse's hooves and slammed his awesome iron bar of a sword into a blow as ultimately fatal for the rider as the charger.

The group fighting the paladin spread out, grinning at each other in those precious moments of intoxication. Then they were back, professional killers, mopping up the straggling reinforcements. Rutger skidded to a halt, looking down at the corpse in dented armor. Plenty of lance and axe strokes had gone into wearing him out, but the massive crushing pucker in the middle of his chest plate could only have been Dieck's. Rutger stared as his vengeance trickled away on the cobble stones. The hand clutching his original sword shook, and it took the last of the Bern cavaliers to get him moving again, turning to parry an incoming lance.

As the army raced into the castle keep, he kept Dieck in sight at all times, weaving a circle of death around the mercenary, snatching every kill he could from under that betraying blade. The armored knights and the child mages advanced on the throne, while Dieck dropped back, resting against a wall, eying Rutger cautiously. “I thought you were done with trying to kill me.”

Rutger refused to answer. He was not sure if he could speak clearly at that point. In a few strokes Dieck had claimed the reason Rutger had survived Bulgar, had picked up his grandfather's sword, and had tramped across endless mountains. He let Dieck natter on, alarmed as he heard something close enough to the truth to set words coming out of his mouth. He just managed to throttle back the story of Sacae's fall, and make light of the situation when a cheer of victory went up from the throne.

They were all right, then. The traitors were vanquished. May the spirits of the innocent rest. May Mother Earth smile upon her warriors. Dieck reached out a hand, and in one black searing moment that had no place in this time of victory, Rutger wanted to watch him bleed as the cavalier had bled. But Dieck's blood could hardly wash away the memories, and certainly, as Rutger had said, a battlefield didn't recognize the justice of one man's grudge. They were alive today. He should be thankful and stop all that anger whirling away from him to ground itself on one of his allies.

Rutger turned away, ready to be helpful in the clean up, and not think about things for a while. He pointedly ignored anything the other mercenary said to him, just as he ignored the little Lady Clarine being surprised that she didn't have to ask twice for Rutger to remove the horrible bodies in the kitchens. The warning call from the battlements managed to pass by unrecognized, until a second. more urgent call said a word that sent Rutger's heart racing. Wyverns.

The exhausted rush to castle Ostia's gate already told him that they couldn't survive against an onslaught of Bern's flying soldiers. The young lordlings stared at the breached gate in dismay, and then focused on the vast scaled beasts winging in elegantly to land, their riders nothing more than specks in the saddle. Rutger readied his sword. What a day it had been.

Beside him, Dieck's face seemed to have turned to stone. The little pegasus knight shifted uncomfortably in her saddle. “We can take them, right, Captain?”

“What did I say about calling me that?” Dieck's voice strained as it tried to be light and merry. Rutger noticed he hadn't answered Thany's question.

“As our fastest unit, you might have to get Roy and Lilina to safety if this turns ugly,” Sir Zealot told the girl from behind the small group. One of his cavaliers tried to smile as Thany looked at them, startled.

Rutger snorted. The hard edged knight commander should have said when it turned ugly. The army was exhausted, and holding a broken castle. Their enemy was faster than any of the warriors in the army, barring Thany, and could fly over any terrain they chose. Had anyone here even seen wyverns before today, much less fought them?

“We've got two archers. Too bad we don't have more mages,” someone in the crowd muttered.

Later, Rutger wondered if that had been some sort of signal that Mother Earth had been waiting for with her wicked sense of humor. At the time, he thought that the hooves on the road were signs of trouble, more reinforcing cavaliers. The the banners swayed into sight. More purple, Rutger noted, feeling numb. Purple was the royal color of Bern. It was on most wyvern riders' crests—

“The—That's the Etrurian banner!” One of the younger knights cried out in disbelief, and Rutger even heard a clattering of dropped weapons.

Roy held up his arm, trying to look more commanding than a short fifteen year old boy. “Our reinforcements have arrived, but stay at attention!” and he turned to address the enemy.

Even so, the tired mercenaries all around relaxed. Rutger wanted to, but he couldn't help staring at the lances, engraving wingspans and weapons on his mind. These people might never have been to Sacae, but as their leader spoke, sneering and superior, the myrmidon knew they would have done the same as the now dead paladin. He smiled grimly. He loathed them and all their kind.

The wyvern riders retreated, alive, as Roy invited the Etrurian squads into Castle Ostia. As mages replaced mercenaries on the walls, Rutger heard one of the cavaliers say excitedly: “You know what this means? We get to sleep in real beds tonight!”

“Hey, Rutger.”

He stopped, breathing in for a moment before turning to face Dieck. That breath pushed away the last of the churning anger. It wasn't his. It didn't belong to him, and he did not care for it. Rutger was able to face anyone. For a second the mercenary commander paused, running a hand through his brush of pale teal hair, possibly nervous, though why Rutger couldn't understand.

Finally, Dieck grinned. “Looks like you won't have to rush your evening meal for once. Go find yourself a nice room before someone smarter claims it, all right? See you in the refectory.”

Rutger did not exactly get a nice room—it was well appointed, with a soft rug and had a bed with a down mattress, but Rutger heard a shocked gasp as he shoved Dieck against the door after supper, and knew that it meant he had neighbors. He didn't want to deal with that right now, so he didn't, sinking his teeth into an unscarred shoulder, his fingers tight where the interlaced with Dieck's.

They tumbled into the room together, a mad dance of teeth and nails and flying cloth. Dieck would tear away a concealing garment with the same victorious grin Rutger used when he got his mercenary captain to cry out. There was always a hint of bright glee in Dieck's face when he had Rutger stripped down, and tonight Dieck managed to fend Rutger off long enough to run broad hands over his ribs, thumbs finding the few scars Rutger hid.

Having put up with the private inspection as his fair due for his own obsession with Dieck's mottled skin, Rutger pulled off Dieck's belt, and kicked his legs out from under him. This was almost the best part. Dieck half dazed, looking up at him, trousers around his ankles, open and ready for a killing blow or a good fuck. Rutger might even like it better than the sight of Dieck on all fours, or the expression on his face after coming.

Rutger straddled the thick thighs, groaning as Dieck took their erections together in his hand. He leaned over Dieck, pushing and grinding against the firm grasp. He almost smiled when Dieck pushed back long strands of his hair over his shoulder. Rather than let Dieck see that, he applied himself to sucking and licking on his favorite teethmarks, trailing all over Dieck's chest.

Grabbing the hand attending to them, Rutger pulled it away, satisfied by the feeling of his nails digging into the skin of Dieck's wrist, and the small gasp as he worked lower. It could be so hard to wring approving noise from Dieck that sometimes even sighs were small victories.

The smell of sweat lingered in the air, as he pushed Dieck against the carpet, tasting the skin around his navel. Even lower the white green hair dusted the skin around the base of Dieck's cock, which jumped as Rutger passed over it to leave his mark on a hip bone. He shoved at Dieck's thighs with his free hand, pushing them wider, and grimacing as he always did when he brushed against a ropey scar which never could have been inflicted by a sword blade that crawled up the back of Dieck's right leg.

He tried not to think about the things Dieck had allowed other lovers to do to him, setting his sights on the unmarked inner thigh, and raking his nails down the soft skin vengefully. Panting hard, Dieck arched into the touch. Rutger grinned, locking eyes with him as he dug in his nails, imagining raw scratches stinging the mercenary with loving reminders tomorrow. Dieck closed his mouth around a groan

Rutger let go of the captured wrist, reaching for his pack and the oil he kept. Sometimes they didn't use it—usually after challenging and needling one another through out the day. Rutger did not want to wonder if Dieck was trying to prove something tonight, though. Dieck could get his kicks out of the rug burn Rutger would leave all over his back, he thought vengefully, pushing in a finger, only to add a second and third far too swiftly, just to hear the hiss Dieck let escape.

He leaned over to grab a kiss, forcing his tongue into Dieck's mouth as his fingers took care of the heat below. Dieck flexed his hips against Rutger's body, jabbing his cock against warm skin every time Rutger pumped his fingers deeper. Seeing the straining eagerness in the tight body below him, Rutger wanted his hands free. He wanted to hold Dieck down and make long lines of red not even the scars could match, connecting the purple and red bruises of his teeth in a fragile network all over Dieck's skin. Everyone would know just from a glance that Dieck was Rutger's opponent. Not even the claims of the battlefield could supersede that.

Pulling away, Rutger was rewarded with another faint grunt, and he grinned. Dieck must be losing some control. He hoisted the scarred leg over his shoulder, pressing forward to force a stretch of muscles that left Dieck gasping. He hadn't even had to tackle the ear yet. Probably, this was Dieck's way of being kind, but Rutger was willing to take the soft noises as he slid in. More than willing really.

He tried to school his expression while Dieck brushed aside more hair. Two fingers lingered just a little too close to Rutger's cheek. He snapped at them, catching a tip. The gasping laugh rumbled through Dieck's body, taunting Rutger, as though he had done everything as Dieck wanted. For a moment a rough thumb slid along his jaw.

Rutger bit down on the stolen finger in warning, letting go only to bite again as the fingers retreated. When he caught air the second time, he tried to scowl against Dieck's chuckle. But showing displeasure when Dieck lay before him, clearly enjoying the savage movements and stinging reminders of who he dealt with, was far too difficult. Even when Dieck's hands drifted down his sides, digging in just above Rutger's hipbones so familiarly Rutger tingled with anticipation rather than grew irritated at the assumption. There was something of a challenge in it. The warm pressure always made Rutger want to break that grip trying to control him.

He sank in deeper, bringing their chests flush. When Dieck gasped at a bite to his collarbones, Rutger felt the rush of building victory. He jerked higher, trying to reach the secret place behind Dieck's ear, and finally getting there with clever fingers. He knew the skin was bruised and tender. Rutger preferred other positions that gave his mouth access to the magic patch of skin, but tonight he was content to kiss the hollow of Dieck's throat as he ran two fingers over ancient teethmarks.

Dieck whined, his body snapping taut. The cock trapped between them pressed and jerked. Rutger felt it tug and slide under his abdomen as he snapped his hips once more. Dieck actually cried out, and Rutger bit down into the shoulder than had begun the evening, feeling the bloom of warm wetness across their stomachs. Bright red salt and iron burst in his mouth. Thrilled that he had broken skin, Rutger let go, sliding into euphoria.

Eventually Rutger managed to pull away. He sat heavy eyed and sleepy propped against the clothes chest at the foot of the bed, interested in the rise and fall of Dieck's chest, and little else. At some point he would have to chivy Dieck out of the room and douse the lanterns. Maybe tonight he would find some sleep. The bastard was finally dead, after all. What else could haunt his dreams?

Dieck rolled over with a grunt. He looked as if he was planning on rising, but thought better about it. When he reached behind him with a grimace, fingers trailing over inflamed skin on his shoulders, Rutger smirked. The carpet was softer than any of the the tight wool rugs of his childhood, but Nabatan weaving still left little fibrous whip marks.

Dieck caught his eyes. “You're enjoying this.”

“Of course.”

Dieck snorted, shaking his head as though Rutger was some recruit who had done their drills backward. “Your neighbors are going to hate you.”

Rutger tried to remember the timbre of the shocked noises after supper. It had sounded like the young cavaliers. He shrugged, finally pushing himself to his feet, and seeking out the wash basin. “They can trade stories with your chatty axemen.”

“I bet you,” Dieck paused, and Rutger wondered what he was doing while the myrmidon cleaned the worst of the mess off, “the serious green one, Lance, tries to get me to see a healer before breakfast.”

Rutger paused in washing. He couldn't get his fist to unclench around the rag, and water dribbled between his fingers. “Do you need one?”

“Nah. Healers get angry if you use them for silly things like this. Anyway, I don't want to undo all the nice work you just put into me. Still bet that the green kid's gonna imply pretty hard that I should see someone.”

Both the young knights did drills well into the breakfast hours. Rutger would take that bet. He continued his interrupted wash, pleased that his hands weren't shaking they way they had that afternoon. “You won't see the green knight before breakfast. He's not going to be able to send you to any healer. Which would you choose: Saul, or the healer from Bern?”

He turned, dripping water, in time to see Dieck's thoughtful glance at the door. “Saul. Definitely Saul. I don't think they'd be so thoughtless as to ask Sister Ellen to fix these.”

About to roll his eyes, Rutger grinned suddenly. “Dare you to go to little Clarine.”

Dieck grabbed the towel from him, snapping the wet end near his thigh. “Not on your life. Though I'd love to see you explain to her how I got like this.”

“Easy. I wouldn't. Your body speaks for itself well enough, anyway.”

Dieck pretended to be absorbed in scrubbing at his skin. Rutger watched exasperation flit across his face. In the lantern light, the expression might have been fondness, but Rutger knew the tricks of light and shadows.

From his kneeling position Dieck looked up, searching Rutger's face for something. Almost self consciously, Rutger found himself backing up a step. He tried to be reassured by the wary grin. “Today—”

“The battlefield doesn't have time for petty vengeance,” Rutger shrugged off the concern. “You were in the right place at the right time.”

“Sure,” Dieck rose, his smile fading. All over his chest bruises were blossoming, and Rutger felt a stirring of pride about that. “Hey, I'll be collecting the winnings from our bet tomorrow.”

Now it was Rutger's turn to conceal a laugh. “Not likely. I'm going to look forward to inventing some stakes.”

Actually, that wasn't a bad idea. He pushed Dieck out the door, all the while wondering if the bet would allow the mercenary captain to be tied up. Rope burns would be fun to add to the list of complaints Dieck never brought to the healer's attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested in Rutger and Dieck's B Support conversation, which according to this fictionalized version, played out in between the two staircase areas on the way to the throne in Chapter Eight: Reunion, I'm referring to Firelizard's translation, since most of these translations were the basis for the translation patch I used:
> 
> Dieck : "..."  
> *Rutgar is watching him...*  
> Dieck : "Hey! I thought I told you to stop that! Persistent, aren't you...!"  
> Rutgar: "..."  
> Dieck : "...? You seem to be in a bad mood. Did something happen?"  
> Rutgar: "..."  
> Dieck : "Lemme guess... You found a personal enemy in Bern's ranks?"  
> Rutgar: "!"  
> Dieck : "Guess I hit the spot. Then how come you're taking it out on me?"  
> Rutgar: "...I saw the soldier who led the attack on my hometown, Bulgar. But when I reached him...he was already dead. It was you, Dieck. Those sword marks...it had to be you."  
> Dieck : "...Sorry. If I had known, I would have left him to you."  
> Rutgar: "...This is a battlefield. Enemies don't belong to anybody."  
> Dieck : "Rutgar... Can't you relax a little more?"  
> Rutgar: "..." *Rutgar leaves*  
> Dieck : "You can't rush through life..."
> 
> This part is also probably the most accurate rendition of what happens with the various enemies on any given map in FE6. After Ostia I started taking liberties while fictionalizing various points in FE6, like "what if there was a conversation with this group before everyone got to hacking?" or "you know this map's pretty huge, and it makes more sense if some of this was happening at night."


	3. Castle Ostia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rutger needs to be more careful about making casual bets. The stakes might not be worth it.

The birds were barely singing when Rutger lurched out of his room to find a privy, or, in his secret hopes, a full bathhouse. Ostia was the center of Lycia, and it should be able to afford a bathhouse. On the other hand, Lycia was fairly backward about a lot of things, so maybe there would be no hot pools, and he would have to make do with a horse trough and hope that cleared the sleepless night from his eyes.

Unfortunately, even with ruined walls and torn tapestries to indicate the progress of the army, Castle Ostia was a maze. He had just been through the ground floor yesterday—admittedly following Roy's lead to the throne room—but it had been yesterday. He should be able to find something other than endless passages.

Clarine ambushed him as he backed out of the laundry—the servants had privies hiding just past the drying yard, complete with the said horse trough—complaining that she was looking for the banquet hall and no one would tell her where anything was. Also, Rutger, you're dripping water. You should tie your hair back so it's more dignified. Rutger didn't know whether telling her that he was equally lost would get her out of his wet hair, or somehow enlist him as her guide, so he listened to the ranting with one ear as he continued to explore the ground floor.

That was why he almost missed a sleepy eyed Noah and actually-sleeping-upright Treck asking Dieck which way to breakfast. What alerted Rutger was the way Noah's voice jumped a surprised octave and his eyes widened as Rutger and Clarine came down a side passage. Rutger tried not to grin as those tired eyes woke up enough to dart back and forth between himself and Dieck. At the second pass, he raised an eyebrow and smirked enough for there to be no mistake about who had placed their teeth all over that broad expanse.

The last time he had done that, the young Lycian knight in the red armor had jumped, and hastily muttered excuses, while looking guilty. Noah was obviously made of sterner stuff, but he was older than Allen, and an Ilian mercenary to boot. If Dieck was anything to go by, Ilians were an open-minded lot.

Noah broke eye contact with a shake of his head. “Well, if we're all looking for breakfast, we should look together. Dieck, do you know where Brother Saul's quarters are? He might be able to help with your—”

“Do you know if he's ever been to Ostia before?” Dieck drawled.

Noah's face worked through uncertainty. Clearly he did not know, but the moment he opened his mouth, Treck's center of balance seemed to decide that sleeping vertical was silly, and Noah had to dive before his fellow mercenary crashed to the floor.

Dieck watched, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, it doesn't sound as though there's anything the good brother can do for us, then.”

Clarine stamped her foot. “Where is Roy?! It's his duty to see to his guests! Particularly ladies.”

Dieck turned in surprise, and then nodded swiftly. “I will go find him for you, milady.”

Rutger was amazed how quickly that brought out smiles in the petulant girl. Even as Dieck hurried away, Clarine turned to him, to point out a laundry list of qualities “that nice man” possessed, and Rutger did not. “And I hardly would think you were protecting me at all!” she finished. “I should ask that man if he would do it.”

“I can always ask him in your name,” Rutger promised, already heading for the corridor Dieck had chosen for his disappearing act. There was something about Clarine's child-like certainty that he was willing to indulge, as a general rule, but after a night of restless haunted sleep and an early morning lost in this stone mausoleum, his patience was thin.

Rounding a corner that concealed a stair case, he was surprised to discover the object of his search resting in the shadow of the stairs, running fingers over one of the deep gouges in his arm. It was one of the ones Rutger had trouble figuring out, much like the strange burns. For one thing, scarred skin was usually a raised line, but a few of Dieck's old wounds were deep valleys into the muscle, usually paired in two or three scars, as though someone had taken a hooked blade and sliced several parallel marks in quick succession with uncanny precision.

What was strangest, however, was the clear unnaturalness in the way the damage had healed. Those valleys were obvious, but the skin itself was unblemished, as though magic had been used to restore the skin evenly, even if it couldn't repair the actual flesh underneath. Since most of these injuries were on Dieck's back, Rutger had initially guessed they were tokens from past lovers, but they were horrifically deep for foreplay, and mages were secluded, weren't they? Oh Lugh had ambitions in that direction, but magic was generally the provenience of the sacred on the Plains, and particularly in lands controlled by Elimineans, being a mercenary was profane. It just didn't seem likely that Dieck would have taken a mage for a lover.

“So, what will I get for winning the bet?”

Rutger started. He hadn't thought he had been noticed. “You didn't win. Noah isn't the walking military tactics manual.”

“Ah, and here I was hoping you were here to concede and maybe promise me half your pay or something equally nice.”

“No, I'm here because Clarine wants you to be her bodyguard,” Rutger leaned forward, trying not to grin at Dieck's predicament.

Oddly, however, Dieck just sighed. “I hope she forgets that before I see her next.”

“Can't tell a little girl to run off and play?”

Dieck shrugged. “Oh, I'm sure that I can. You've got rings around your eyes like an owl in daylight, you know that? So, how was your night?”

Did Dieck really want to know? Rutger tried to image what Dieck would say to the thoughts of anger and screaming that tumbled through his head all night long. No one here cared what Bern had done. Worse, Rutger was suffering a blow to his pride as a warrior, and allowing his pride to weaken him. It wasn't important. “Fine.”

Dieck's eyebrows suggested very strongly that Rutger was a liar, but he shrugged again. Rutger felt them teetering on the brink of something, but he wasn't sure which way to push things to get what he wanted. Actually, right now the only thing he really wanted was a hot bath, which didn't seem to be part of any conversation he could possibly have with Dieck.

Dieck stepped away from the wall. “I think I'm going to go linger conspicuously near the practice yards.”

“You really want to win that bet, don't you?” Rutger asked, tolerantly wondering if their stakes were at all similar.

Dieck's answering shrug was interestingly bland. “Well, unlike you, I don't mind anyone asking how my night went. Which will probably lead to well meant suggestions from conscientious fifteen-year olds. You can go be a help to Clarine and get Roy—”

Striding feet from just beyond a bend in the corridor indicated that someone wished to use the hallway very much. Rutger assumed it was the knights in question from a certain armored clankiness to the noise. Rather than lose the bet on that instant—or worse, get questioned about the rings around his eyes—he grabbed Dieck's arm, and pulled him into the shadow of the stairs.

“Percival!” a woman called out, just as Etruria's tall general from the previous day turned the corner.

He stopped, and sighed, looking around. “What is it Cecilia? I've received my summons from the King, and if I can't find my way out of this maddening place soon I'll be trying to navigate the border mountains with a full army division in the dark.”

“Well, for one, I wanted to tell you that you should leave by the kitchen entrance, which is in the other direction. But can't I persuade you to stay for a few more days? You've been traveling or fighting on every order out of Aquelia for the last year. You can't catch the assassins by choosing to roast yourself in the infernal blazes just trying to find them.”

Percival chuckled darkly, a grim expression that had nothing to do with humor flitting across his face as he stared down at his short companion. “I shouldn't even have accepted the hospitality last night. The faster I can get back to our little pit of vipers, the more favors I can garner. I'm so close, Cecilia. Closer than even I may know—the King doesn't suspect it, but the rumors I've heard make me think that it wasn't Bern at all that killed Mi—our prince.”

The mage general took a step backward, her eyes wide. “Percival—that's a serious charge. Bern is known for their assassins, and after Sacae, and now Lycia, they have to have their eyes on us. It only makes sense that they would put succession into doubt—”

“Bern's king is Mi—Prince Mildain's cousin, and visited often enough when he was young, until his father forbade it. I'm sure King Zephiel suspects—suspected his cousin was unlikely to—that Etruria's succession is—was likely to be in turmoil after the prince became king, anyway. If the king of Bern had the ability to kill a beautiful and strong young man in the prime of life to place the crown into doubt, he could have done away with an aging, frail king, as well. The chaos of choosing a new ruler would only make invasion easier. With King Mordred still alive the country is still governed, and stable. I doubt it was Bern.”

“I wish I wasn't sure your were right. I had a conversation with the half-sister last night and she said that King Zephiel would never use assassins. How accurate her observation is, of course, subject to doubt—but none of this is proof,” Cecilia stepped closer, as though what Percival was saying really shouldn't be for other ears.

Rutger glanced at Dieck, but his fellow mercenary had his eyes closed, and hardly needed Rutger's weight to press him tightly against the wall. Curiosity's pull on the Sacaen mercenary was far too strong, however, and he continued to peer around the stairwell.

“Douglas knows something,” Percival murmured, or tried to, but the stones of Ostia's keep bounced his low voice all around the corridor. “If he thought it was Bern, he would be calling for swift action. Instead, he does nothing. Nothing that might endanger the King. If it was the court, however, even a hint of suspicion places King Mordred in peril.”

“It's still not proof, Percival.”

“Which is why I have to go back and find some. No rest for the wicked, or foolish, lazy knights.”

Cecilia sighed, reaching up to cup a well shaved chin. There was nothing but sad affectionate understanding in her expression, and with the faces haunting his sleep, Rutger immediately thought of his mother tutting over the scars he had earned as a temporary guard for one of the trade caravans. He never would have imagined that a Western noble woman who had risen to the rank of general had an understanding bone in her body. Whoever was lucky enough to have Cecilia as an older sister was lucky indeed.

“You didn't kill him, Percival,” General Cecilia's tone had the flattened sound of someone who has repeated the words too often, and knows they will never be taken to heart, but just doesn't have any more words to add to her mantra. “An assassin strikes when there is opportunity, and there is always an opportunity. You could have been the Saint herself, and still Mildain would have died. Douglas was there, and _he_ couldn't save him. You may have been the Prince's General, but you're not the Great General of Etruria yet.”

Percival tried to turn away, and mumble something to a hall tapestry. However, even though Cecilia's hand slipped from cheek to cloaked shoulder, she held on fast. “I know. I miss him too. Maybe not as you do, but he was my student, and I failed him.”

“Hah. Now who expects too much from herself. But,” Percival straightened and stepped away, “that brings up another reason for me to leave promptly. This sad, ragtag little band of mercenaries is going to be made to pay for yesterday's rescue. I know the commander is another student of yours Cecilia. I'm not going to stay to be the one who will order them to fight our battles to their deaths, but it will happen.”

“Oh, I know it will,” Cecilia nodded, the kindness leaving her face bleak. “I have a missive concerning the rumors of the Princess of Bern's defection from her brother's side on my desk. It suggests some housing conditions that involve a lot of pointed questions about Zephiel's army and even pointier methods of asking those questions. I've been trying to figure out a convincing way to dispose of it.”

“Spill wine on it when you break your fast,” the general suggested dismissively. “That's what Mildain did when he wanted to prolong his absence from court for a few days, or politely not be invited to parties filled with eligible ladies. But the talks will happen. Steer them in your favor if you can.”

“Thank you, I'll try. Guinevere is a sweet girl. I can't believe she's related to the old king by blood. I met him once, you know. The old king. He made a tour of the university when I was graduating, and you could just see the seething envy and contempt for his Etrurian cousins.”

“I can't believe she's related to _Zephiel_. She looks as though a gust of wind could blow her away.”

“Ah,” Cecilia's voice rang with hollow darkness, “you would think that. But after talking to her—she can turn on the charm the way he could when he was a lad. There's that same earnest belief in the goodness of creation in her. I pray that Etruria's crown will not be what destroys that belief, the way growing up seems to have done to her brother. Anyway, speaking of avoiding the duties of the crown, I suppose you are right to leave before more unfortunate orders find you.”

“Well, if any come to this warren of a castle, I wish them the luck of finding me. I wanted that side passage to the kitchens?” Percival pointed over Cecilia's shoulder, and the two turned the corner they had just come around.

Although he didn't want to admit it, Rutger felt nearly weak kneed with relief that they had not been caught. Yet even as he relaxed, or perhaps because he relaxed, he noticed Dieck's chest was tight, his hands had balled into fists. The tension vibrated under Rutger's gloved hands. Rutger would swear he could feel the muscles of that bare chest was trembling, and Dieck seemed to be keeping his eyes closed.

“They are gone now.”

“Yeah,” Dieck snorted, one eye cracking open to stare down at Rutger. “That was clever, hiding here.”

“I thought we were going to meet one of the young knights before I had my breakfast,” Rutger shrugged peering around the corner again. “They sound in a predicament.”

“Poor souls,” Dieck agreed, his tone so bitter, Rutger's attention whipped around. The mercenary looked as lazily bold as ever, but for once his eyes held the tightness of anger at the edges. What was going on in that inscrutable head of Dieck's? “It's good that they're putting off betraying us until the last possible moment, don't you think?”

Where did that come from? Rutger desperately wanted to know. But a direct attack almost never worked on Dieck unless it was swift, and Dieck was tired. With the mercenary this tense, his guard would never drop. He sized up the situation, running his hands absently over the network of bruises. Interestingly, the tight trembling thrum of Dieck's chest eased under his palms. He grinned wryly, and caught Dieck looking almost surprised.

“What, you expect me not to care that they might decide to throw us into a fray that has nothing to do with Bern?” Rutger asked.

Dieck shook his head for a moment, the more normal clarity returning to his expression. “Sometimes I do wonder about you. You're saying you wouldn't kill if it wasn't a blow against Bern?”

“No. But they'd have to pay me a lot more. I'll die happily with a blade in my hands, but I won't want to risk any of my enemies outliving me without a good reason.”

“And what does a guy with your death wish do with extra money, anyway?”

“Well, obviously,” but Rutger had to stop. He hadn't really thought about it. What had he used money for before Bulgar fell? “Get nice lodgings, I suppose. Or a tent of my own. There was a smith I would have given my right arm to commission a blade from,” but he was dead. Too much yellow and green in his blood to be allowed to live.

Dieck sighed expressively. It almost covered the subtle shift, as Dieck laced his hands together behind Rutger's back, neatly enfolding him as though they really were lovers and not separate people leading lives that occasionally crashed into one another. “You're too self sufficient, you know that? There'll be no fun taking half your wages from you when I win the bet, if you don't actually need them.”

“I wish I knew why you keep thinking that you're going to win when the cavaliers that we've met so far seem only to hint at healers, and I now know the way to the kitchen and breakfast, thanks to the Etrurians.”

“Ooh, another reason to be less than happy with the news they brought,” but Dieck was all lazy grins as he gazed down at Rutger. The anger seemed a distant memory.

“Huh. Maybe those two will pull off whatever kindness we need to continue fighting Bern without interference,” Rutger began, hoping to see a break in Dieck's defenses.

Indeed, he came close, as Dieck's face grew more serious. “They won't. That general was right when he called the Etrurian court a pit of vipers.”

Dieck stared past him, his eyes somewhere else entirely, and where ever they were, it was a hard unforgiving place. Rutger imagined his own eyes dwelled in the same plane much of the time. He couldn't ask. Not while Dieck's guard was firmly concentrated upon holding the past at bay. This was not the victory Rutger wanted.

Yesterday, Dieck had asked him if he had recognized a dead man, while Rutger's guard was down. Rutger wanted to be better than that. He didn't need to pry. And yet. The absurd lack of amusement in Dieck's face, and the tightness of his arms spoke of tension demanding to be broken.

Who would break it, if not Rutger? He gave up, raising an eyebrow with a curious: “Oh?”

Thumbs rode along his sword belt for a moment, pressing over the lip of leather, and rubbing a small contemplative circle on his lower back through his surcoat. Dieck managed a thoughtful smirk. “Maybe I'll answer that if you win the bet.”

“Naming my stakes for me?”

“Why not? It's something you want to know, and something that I don't particularly want to talk about, but I suppose it doesn't really matter now.”

“Just as long as you're not secretly a nobleman playing the part of a passive Ilian mercenary. There's too much fireside story in that to hold my interest,” Rutger decided. “But, if those are my stakes, what will yours be?”

Dieck actually laughed at the suggestion. “Nobleman? Hah. You have been listening to tales. I'm commoner muck than you, and in Etruria common muck is very common.”

Rutger blinked. “You mean, you're not Ilian?”

“Nope. What made you think I was sending money home to some impoverished idiots trying to turn ice into carrots?”

“Well, you're a mercenary—”

“So are you.”

“You're one of the basically honorable sorts of mercenaries,” Rutger growled. “If I don't have a pressing reason to fight, I turn my blade. Just ask Marquess Laus.”

“That only happened because you found out that we were fighting Bern,” Dieck shrugged off the statement, though Rutger thought that his color was high. In the shadowed stairwell, however, that could have been a trick of the light. “Anyway, no, I'm just a common mercenary with no reputation for honesty to protect, and all of the usual vices of the profession.”

“Huh,” Rutger drawled. “Somehow I don't see you dripping with women in every town we pass through.”

“Okay, maybe some unusual vices, too,” Dieck agreed amiably, his eyes flashing in amusement. “But that's because most ladies I meet aren't as eager to rip into me as you are.”

Rutger scowled, thinking of scars that couldn't have been won in battle. Did he used to have someone who he could ask anything of and would then receive heartfelt affection and closeness from? “Alright, so you're Etrurian. That doesn't change much. What are you going to be extracting from me, if not my wages?”

“Hmm. Something that you don't particularly want to give me, but won't kill you if you do,” Dieck hummed, and Rutger secretly admired the the feeling of it through his fingers. Possibly he was imagining it, but the bruised marks on Dieck's chest burned hotter than the rest of his exposed skin, and reacted with more sensitive tenderness to his touch. Dieck suddenly laughed. “The next time we see a nice cushy room, you wouldn't be allowed to kick me out after you've had your fun.”

Rutger's eyes shot up from the injuries he had been enjoying. He knew consternation was written on his face, and he tried to school the expression. Still, the idea of anyone, much less Dieck, seeing him left weak by something as foolish as a nightmare left Rutger cold. But he couldn't refuse without letting Dieck know that request was much more serious than it should have been.

“Sure. Sounds as though I have a bet to win. Now if you're excuse me, you're stopping me from getting breakfast,” that would all he would have to do to win the bet, Rutger knew, or at least draw it into a stalemate. Dieck was the honorable type, for all his protests to the contrary. He would honor even a dubious win.

He even let Rutger go, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Okay, pick your poison, but I still bet the green one says something before you can take your first bite.”

They headed out from the stairwell, and took the corridor General Cecilia talked about. After two turns, they abruptly started finding more servants, some of them carrying food. Rutger smirked, although he chose to be good, and at least not nab any fruit or meat from the trays carried past. It was a fun excursion in its quiet way, until some annoyingly helpful serving girl turned them around politely at the doors of the kitchen, and marched them to the banquet hall, on the grounds that the cook didn't need any more people underfoot, thank you.

The whole episode hadn't even been that annoying, until the boisterous party of young cavaliers and that little archer boy caught up with them in a side passage with a winding stair. The red and green ones were chatting about how confusing the Ostian layout could be to strangers, and the archer was wide-eyed.

Allan waved at Dieck, and then gasped, as the big mercenary turned toward him. Rutger wanted to curse all luck—none of which belonged to him evidently.

“Captain Dieck, what happened to you?” Wolt's high voice sang out, almost cutting through the serious advice from yes, the walking tactics manual.

“You should probably see a healer.”

Dieck elbowed Rutger in the side, triumphant in this victory. Rutger swallowed, and decided that he was not feeling kind towards children today. He smirked, and stared at Wolt. “I happened to him.”

He took some comfort in the saucer eyed stares, and the fact that suddenly all those chatty kids had shut up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Chapter 8: Reunion, Percival just shows up, is his brusque but slightly sly self, and leaves everything in Cecilia's hands, claiming that Etruria can't do without two generals for too long. Given the general historical setting (i.e. Not-Dark-Ages-Italy) and Ostia's location at the base of the border mountains between Lycia and Etruria, bringing a troop of soldiers to the aid of a castle, only to turn around and ride back, presumably with an escort of some kind, given Percival's rank, seems unrealistic to me.
> 
> So I played with the canon a bit, and imagined that Roy insisted everyone take dinner and hospitality in Ostia Keep that night. Percival getting underway the following morning is shockingly quick travel time even so. Most people making that kind of journey would be expected to stay for several days, as Cecilia did, over seeing the negotiations between Eturia and what was left of the Alliance army. / dodgy non-canon justifications


	4. Araphen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Etrurian Army rescued Roy's group at Ostia, they are summoned to Araphen to guard the negotiations made with Etruria over the fate of Lycia. Surprising as it is, Rutger thinks he might enjoy some of his companions in the army.

Much like the Plains in the waning summer, nothing much happened. They stayed at Ostia long enough to see the castle rebuilt and take a side trip to a volcano. Rutger discovered that while he might not like traveling over mountains, he had nothing but warm and fuzzy thoughts about them when compared to traveling inside mountains that spit fire out of the floor if you stepped the wrong way. His grumbling about lava unfortunately attracted the attention of the lime haired boy and his afternoon, when not evicting bandits from this fiery tomb, was dedicated to an enthusiastic lecture about how the earth was made entirely from magma.

Once the castle had been rebuilt, the army was back to Araphen for the first lordly meeting of the surviving Lycian marquesses and their Etrurian protectors. The little general of the sad rag tag mercenary army wore his new mystical blade on the first day of talks, trying to look proud and lordly, and as always, as though he was not fifteen years old and only commanding this force because there was no one left, and the army had sworn their allegiances to him.

“They'll grow used to it,” Sue said, looking after Roy as various Lycian nobles streamed around him, separating him from his army and making him look very small indeed.

She continued to bend the supple wood of her bow, getting ready for the watch.

Rutger couldn't help noticing that all of the non-Lycians were slated for the security rotation. Whether this was a hint that these matters were not for foreign ears, or to prevent any lords of the fractured alliance from opening the gates to Bern with their own men, Rutger couldn't bring himself to care much. Every inactive day was another day without revenge, and he was beginning to think that his dreams would consume him if this went on any longer.

“Grow used to what?” the other archer girl, Dorothy, looked up from the bow string that she was plating.

She sat on the edge of the crenelated ramparts, wind blowing her hair, and reminding Rutger of an awkward colt. He wasn't sure where she was from, but Saul had volunteered her up here fast enough, before hurrying off to attend upon a buxom cleric, so Rutger assumed that she wasn't Lycian.

“That their hopes rest with someone they don't believe ready for the responsibility,” Sue replied, sighting down an arrow. She was looking away from the court yard now, her eyes turned toward the mountains. “The men and women here will have to grow used to it.”

“That doesn't mean that they will,” Rutger felt compelled to point out.

The Lady Sue started, and turned to look at him, blinking with surprise. “Well, no. I suppose not. But desperate times might change minds. It has changed your church, hasn't it, Dorothy?”

“The Bishop says not enough,” the archer replied. “Bern is the second largest Eliminean enclave, after all. And their priests aren't as involved with the nobility as the Etrurian clergy are. There's a lot of respect for Bernians in the Eliminean church. You know, simplicity of life and hard work can seem like a good example on occasion. A lot of priests and bishops believe that we should be on the side of Bern—if it weren't for the dragons. To be honest, I think the old rules are more in our favor than any change right now.”

“Dragons,” the wind whipped the half reverent word from Sue's mouth and sent it tumbling down to the court yard. “Do you think it will come to that?”

As one, the three guards for that stretch of wall turned to stare at the court yard and sought out a shock of red hair in the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of the white silver blade.

“Bishop Yodel does,” Dorothy said at last, turning serious eyes back to the mountains. “But even if it doesn't, there's still so much to recover. Can you imagine the devastation a dragon could wreak on top of that?”

Sue nodded glumly. “Sacae is never going to be the same. We've lost so many of the greater tribes over the last few years. Nothing has been this bad since the days of the Talivar bandits, according to my grandfather, and they poisoned the winter water supply of one tribe so badly that none could use the site for a generation. Here the people just have to raise some stone walls. The hope of the Kutolah is gone, and Bulgar was all but ash—the Plains needs her people.”

“But surely—you're all nomads out there, some people must have escaped.”

“Not enough,” Rutger answered Dorothy bitterly. Last night he had retraced his steps through burned and empty streets. “Even nomads need traders and people to do things that are impossible when your life is tied to the patterns of the herds.”

Sue turned from her post, all surprise. “You—you're from Sacae, Rutger? I had no idea. From what tribe? You don't wear any bands,” she was already inspecting the mouth of his hooded surcoat, sharp eyes trying to see if he was hiding the tell-tale triangles at his throat.

“Both my grandmother and grandfather gave up their colors when they married merchants from Bern and settled down in Bulgar,” Rutger said shortly, hoping that was enough of an answer for a girl who had so recently lost her tribe.

He did not want a full blooded daughter of the greatest tribe north of the river to assume that she had any responsibility for him. It once might have been an honor to be noticed by someone like her, but not because one mongrel mercenary was all that was left for her to protect.

Sue drew in a breath as though she was about to say something, but she closed her mouth, and nodded, returning to her duties.

Dorothy looked from one to the other expectantly. With no answers forthcoming, she hopped from her perch. “If you are from the plains, Master Rutger, are you familiar with archery? Sue's shots are so steady and rapid, I can never out do her in practice. It would be nice to have advice—”

“I follow my sword,” Rutger cut her off. “The only prey I seek are men. A Sacaen's skills with the bow are for productive survival. The skills with the sword are for destructive survival.”

Dorothy started back a little, her entire body tight with nerves. Sue's mouth was thinner than usual, but her voice was light. “Which is a good thing, if bandits or Bern take these walls. He will be all that we have to defend us, once they get too close for our bows to be useful.”

Dorothy hummed thoughtfully. Rutger noticed that she was refusing to look at him now. “The knights are near enough to hear us call out, if we need more than one blade, I suppose, but they are protecting the mages on the other walls. General Roy must think quite highly of you indeed, Master Rutger, making you protect two charges, instead of one.”

“Or he thinks that no one will attack here.”

“Ah,” she drew out the syllable nervously. “ Um. Please don't sound so disappointed.”

But he was.

For the entirety of the talks bandits refused to attack, and the great machine of Bern's army refused to turn their blades against Lycia, lest they meet Etrurian fires. Rutger had enough when he was half way through a conversation with the Bernian healer, who he had successfully avoided up until Araphen, and realized he had agreed to escort the youngest members of the army to the ruins of their old home without even pausing to consider that this might make him miss an attack at the main castle.

Sister Ellen's stuttered thanks trailed away as she hurried off to give water to the other defenders. Rutger found himself scowling in the heat. The irritation was only more raw because of Dieck's presence—another person he had been avoiding of late, despite, or perhaps because of, a smug grin and tap on the nose the second night in Araphen promising that Dieck hadn't forgotten the bet, but he wasn't really in the mood to collect his winnings just yet. That night Rutger had taken out his frustration pleasantly enough to need stitches, and had assumed he was too tired to have the nightmares, so it would have been perfect if Dieck had used up the little win from the week before.

Luckily, Dieck hadn't, because Rutger had woken up actually screaming in the dark hours of early dawn. Rutger was beginning to conclude that a lack of victories was raising the ghosts against him. He hadn't had a chance to fight against Bern since Ostia. Hadn't been able to fight since Dieck killed the focus of his vengeance.

He felt as though he was imprisoned by invisible chains that pressed in on him with their iron weight, smothering him into corpse-like stillness, helpless to act, like a dog in a kennel. Once he began fighting again, he could get a solid night's sleep. Maybe he should go back to ambushing Dieck for actual sword matches. Obviously, wearing himself out pleasantly wasn't getting the job done. It might even be making the dreams more vivid.

“Sounds like a nice little day trip you just planned for yourself,” Dieck drawled, leaning against a crenelation as he honed his sword. “Poor Sister Ellen. She wanted to leave this stretch of wall as soon as possible, and now she's stuck with you for at least half a day.”

“I'm stuck with her, you mean.”

“That, too. But she's terrified of you, and somehow, I think you're up to the challenge of handling a cute little priestess, even if you suddenly were struck with the horrors.”

“Are you saying I'm scaring her?” Rutger tried to look serious and confused.

His little game of hurt innocence worked the trick more quickly than he thought it would. He had the pleasure of watching Dieck's mobile expression shudder to a halt as his thoughts had to adjust to a Rutger who might not be totally aware of everything around him. At last Dieck managed: “Well, yeah. I don't know if you noticed but you have a bit of a reputation around here.”

“And you don't?”

“I'm just odd. You're the big,” Dieck suddenly grinned, his eyes sweeping up and down Rutger's body leaning against the battlements, “well, little bad mercenary with the evil temper. Don't you notice the whispers?”

“Is that why people have been looking at me?” Rutger continued, trying very hard not to grin. “And I thought everyone was wondering where I found such a nice sword.”

Suspicion clouded Dieck's face. Finally he raised a challenging eyebrow. “Hmm. To the best of my knowledge you ambushed him in a stream bed. And left him bruised and bloody. Probably not a good recommendation for the rest to find a good sword.”

Rutger chuckled. “True. If anyone else went about it in the same way, I would give them a reason to be afraid. After all, he's _my_ nice sword.”

As his words dropped into a gulf of silence, Rutger suddenly became very interested in the movements in the forest below. Not that the birds had stopped singing, so it was unlikely that bandits were crawling down from the mountains, but this was now the second time Dieck had drawn out thoughts Rutger wanted to keep private. At least those thoughts were only slightly embarrassing, and maybe Dieck hadn't noticed what he said.

Only an arm's span away, Dieck sighed. “You ever consider tying your hair back?”

“What?”

“Oh, just thinking that it's hard to tell how serious you're being when I can't see your face. But,” the mercenary's voice wore the edge of slightly smug satisfaction, “I suppose no one else knows what you're thinking, either. Enjoy being a man of mystery, do you?”

“Men of mystery don't get bothered by trivial conversation,” Rutger agreed, thinking about Dieck's habit of pushing his hair away. “Though it doesn't really seem to stop you.”

“Setting a bad example for the others, am I?” the tone was still smug and lilting. “I suppose it would be a pity if anyone else knew all the secrets you hide behind those clothes.”

“Says the man depending upon his scars to keep him warm. I should have guessed from the fact that you're not ready for the winter that you're not Ilian.”

“I guess when you don't even notice people talking about your temper instead of your swords, keen observation might be a bit beyond you.”

Rutger reached out lazily to flick at Dieck's ear. The skin he had been decrying against winter chills had absorbed the sun from the hours on watch. Unlike Rutger, who was slowly roasting into brown, the edges of Dieck's tan hinted at red sunburns underneath, and Dieck winced slightly as Rutger's fingers found the ear.

“Hey, go easy, will you? Some of us aren't dressed for the weather.”

“Me? Go easy on my opponent? Never,” but they were both grinning.

It startled Rutger to realize that he had been smiling much more over the past few weeks. Clarine, of course, was predictably amusing, but he had found himself warily enjoying the company of the irrepressible priest and his bodyguard, and some of the antics of the younger soldiers made him chuckle. When had that started? He still liked making Allen start like a nervous colt with a well placed glare, or Lance flinch when Rutger smirked meaningfully. But it wasn't always about chasing them away any more.

He shook his head. “I need to get out of the sun. I might actually be coming to like guard duty, boring as it is."

Dieck snorted. “Much to the terror of all the rest of us not lordly enough to get away from you.”

“I'll have you know I held a civil conversation with the priestess. I didn't even try to chase her away.”

“That's because you're bored, and making plans to get her alone to murder her,” Dieck taunted, pretending not to notice the kick at his ankle.

“I'm not that bad. She's a healer.”

“That's allowed, then? Even if she's out of Bern?”

Hmm, Dieck seemed to be fishing for something. Rutger caught the measuring glances from the corner of Dieck's eyes. Hah. The mercenary seemed to think that he was being sly. “She's not the kind of person who can set a street to the torch on an order, or for some gold.”

“You were at Bulgar when it was invaded, weren't you?”

The question had no curiosity or interest attached. It was the question of someone who thought he knew everything, had seen every invasion before. Rutger nodded stiffly, focusing on a steepled guildhall in the city of Araphen proper. If he didn't look at Dieck, nothing he did not want to share would spill from him.

Dieck grunted. His elbows resettled on the battlements. “Always wondered about you. How long have you been a mercenary?”

Was it safe to answer? Was something else going to pour forth, revealing Rutger to Dieck's pity and underlying scorn? Were the people he had cared around going to rise before his eyes until he drowned in their specters? He tightened his mouth, fighting for control.

“A few years. I used to hire out as a trail guard,” Rutger muttered.

“Mm. So—see many wars? I've been a mercenary, oh, thirteen years now? Most of the work on my side of the mountains is lords fighting over their borders, or who got to marry what piece of land with their wife. It's nasty, but this is a different scale.”

No. The plains had been relatively peaceful in Rutger's life time. The Kutolah and Djute had divided the Plains between them, and the lesser tribes weren't badly off. No group had considered a serious summer war. Even the mourning wars elders spoke of around the little mugs of sweet tea, saying men weren't half as tough as they had been in their day, hadn't been declared. It was a bad time to be an outsider bandit on the Plains, and up until last winter, the tribesmen had walked like the chosen of Mother Earth. Hunting parties might have attacked caravans, but everyone had been secure in their power, and war was a far off thought.

“I once walked home in winter because a raid on the caravan I was protecting delayed travel by a full month,” Rutger shrugged.

“Yeah. This isn't going to be over within the season,” Dieck mused. “I guess I'm lucky. I might meet old friends and comrades on the field, but that happens with mercenaries. Regular people are supposed to be basically safe, ignoring any bandits and such.”

“They're not.”

Dieck made a noncommital noise, and stretched out over the battlements. “We called them pirate summers when I was a kid. The only thing a lord couldn't protect against was river pirates. But they were supposed to be able to take care of armies. That's what lords were for. Then you grow up and come to fight and you realize lords can barely hold together against any organized force.”

The Plains had not prepared Rutger for any of the complicated web of lordships that began west of the mountains. It seemed foolish to trust anyone besides yourself and your family to keep you so safe that you could ignore fighting. He ran his fingers along the hilt of his sword. “Bern changed that for everyone.”

“Well, there's peace now. Maybe enough to get the harvest in,” Dieck laughed, though Rutger couldn't understand what was so funny.

“'Peace for now' isn't enough.”

He caught Dieck glancing at him, even as the mercenary straightened up. “Figured you'd say that. Saul's got a bet going that you'd abandon us just to kill some Bern troops.”

Rutger shrugged. “Oh really? Hmm. If we never getting moving again, maybe you'd lose me. I'd do everyone a favor and not turn my blade until after a battle though. Can't disappoint bossy little healer girls. Is my going soft for this group going to sour Saul's odds?”

Dieck smiled one-sidedly, and stared at the forest. “You don't need to reassure me. I know everyone's got a price. Though I guess we should count ourselves lucky that yours is so unusual. Most people are happy with 'please let me live to see tomorrow.'”

“Are they really?”

“I am,” and though the tone was teasing and light, Dieck had his head turned just enough that his expression was hidden. Rutger was hardly the only man of mystery in the camp.

The bell of the church rang out something complicated—devotions or reflections, or some other strange Eliminean code Rutger had never memorized. All that really mattered was that Wendy or Bors would stop dancing attendance on the fine lords in the castle keep, and take Rutger's place on guard.

Rutger waited until he heard clanking at the base of the wall, and then sidled over to Dieck. He slipped behind the mercenary, grabbing the wrists of both hands to hold him in place against the battlements. Taut surprise ran through the broad back under his chest, muscles surging with sudden tension, only to relax against him when he laid his lips against the burning skin on Dieck's neck. Rutger knew Dieck felt the smirk, but he only had half an eye blink to tense before Rutger bit down, reveling in the jerk and stifled yelp the sunburn earned him.

Admiring the latest mark as he tore away, Rutger tried to keep his face cool. Dieck might enjoy playing the fool, or brooding on his own secrets. Neither mattered in the long run, when they were only together for the length of a stalled war. Rutger would just as easily leave, if the army was reduced to nothing but protection for Lycia. The destruction of Bern would always take priority.

The lone mercenary sauntered away, leaving the half circle to burn merrily as Bors climbed laboriously up the steps.

The next time the church bell rang, Rutger was a little more aware of its tone. Certainly, to those who observed the Eliminean day, it probably had some liturgical meaning, but he had learned quite swiftly that in Lycia the long slow peals were a call to rest and relaxation. The children, filled with energy, rarely needed the naps their elders took, so of course, guard duty was passed to said elders, to give the children the free time they would not use in profitable slumber. After the first day, when Rutger had been awakened from a cat-nap by Chad and Lugh racing away from the kitchen, he thought this kind of indulgence a foolish one.

However, today they were using the rest to visit their old home, so who was he to complain? The chattering of higher born Lycians floated around the grounds of the keep as the meeting recessed. Rutger tried to keep in the shadow of the gate, feeling too many curious eyes assault him.

Their so-called army was drawing a lot of interest from the Etrurians at the conference. The Lycians were used to having most of their active troops made up of mercenary forces. Etrurians, however, did not bother to hide scathing comments and false worry that these low born assassins would willingly hire onto Bern's side.

Unfortunately, some of the Lycian men-at-arms here remembered that Rutger had been with Marquess Laus, and that only made the rumors spread among their masters. Since yesterday, it felt as though everyone was staring at him—a complaint that Treck had shrugged off as paranoia caused by lack of sleep when Rutger voiced it. Given the way Sir Zealot had looked daggers at his laziest knight, Treck had probably only been angling for more permission to nap, but the comment had struck a little close to home.

Dorothy ducked out of the press of finely dressed lords and ladies, only to blink when she caught sight of Rutger in the shadows. “Are you on gate duty, Master Rutger?”

“No.”

She searched for a reasonable explanation to his lurking, but none came. “Well, then, uh, could you tell whoever is on duty that Sister Ellen, Chad, Lugh, and myself are headed out for a walk?”

Rutger raised an eyebrow. Funny how things worked out. “Hmm. I was supposed to be going on a walk, myself, with nearly the same number of people. I arranged it with Sister Ellen this morning.”

After a long pause, where Rutger could see Dorothy trying to process the information, the archer began to laugh. “Really? You? You're the terrible dark man Sister Ellen wasn't sure was joining us?”

Rutger looked at the back of his hand on his sword hilt reflectively. “I have been getting more sun.”

“She made you sound the size of a mountain, and dressed in spiked armor,” Dorothy wiped her eyes. “I honestly thought she had been talking about Captain Dieck, except he doesn't have 'such an awful glaring set of eyes.' I mean, you're, you're a very intense person, but what did you say to her?”

“I think I mentioned that I was bored and there weren't enough Bern soldiers to kill around here,” Rutger replied, trying to imagine Dieck glaring with fury and indeed finding it a jarring image that just didn't fit with the kind laziness he knew.

Looking warily awkward, the young woman rocked back on her heels, her bow clutched behind her. “I, well. Uh, I suppose that would make her a bit nervous.”

A clattering on cobblestones interrupted the archer. Clarine came cantering past the two, only halting her neat pony when it was clear that the gate would not open to an assault of personality. She turned the pony with a deft hand, and then noticed the bemused guards standing in the doorway.

“Rutger! Good. And Dorothy, too. Even better,” though it had been her pony who had been running, Clarine seemed to be out of breath. “I need to get away—I mean, I'm finding the air around here a little stifling, and I am going for a walk. You may accompany me if you wish.”

Rutger decided that silence would be the best policy when dealing with a distraught girl who wasn't covering it up very well. Dorothy glanced at him, before trying to see if Sister Ellen would materialize quickly.

“Um, we're already planning on escorting Sister Ellen and Chad and Lugh,” she began.

The waterworks began with the horrific slowness of an avalanche high above the Ilian snowline, but thundering inexorably forward, with no care for territorial borders. Clarine's eyes went misty, and then her lip trembled. Rutger counted in his head, assuming that by the time he got to five, the wailing would swamp them.

At three Clarine was drawing in a breath, when Dorothy intercepted the incipient tantrum. “But having a healer of your caliber along with us would be wonderful. It would be great for Lugh and Chad, knowing that we were helping with Araphen's reconstruction. If you have the time to join us, of course.”

Rutger was impressed. He hadn't assumed that the pious girl was capable of such arch manipulation. He should get lessons from her the next time he tried to verbally spar with Dieck. Or Clarine. Or anyone really. Clairine's upset face melted into a thoughtful eagerness. “Oh, but of course! Just wait here. I have to get a staff.”

“I'll tell Sister Ellen and the boys when they get here,” Dorothy smiled.

As Clarine wheeled away, riding that pony far too quickly in the forecourt of a keep for Rutger's pedestrian tastes, he gave Dorothy a congratulatory nod. “You handled her well.”

Dorothy frowned. “I wasn't handling her. Can't you see Clarine was upset? She needed something to do, and everyone could use free healing services.”

Rutger bit his tongue. He wouldn't have thought that being put to work for free was a good way to make a pampered person feel less upset. But Clarine had certainly liked the suggestion. Maybe it was some sort of Eliminean thing, because now that he considered it, both Dorothy and Sister Ellen became much more active in the worst camp chores when, in their shoes, Rutger would have gone off and practiced sword work to calm down.

“Dorothy!” Lugh's bright yellow cloak was off his shoulders in the heat, and wrapped around some bulky objects. Rutger suspected the kitchen was missing some goodies, seeing Chad's much more furtive shadow behind the young mage, holding an identical bundle. “And, um, Mister Rutger. Sister Ellen's gone to find the watch commander. Have you had dinner yet? The cook gave us tons of cheese and some bread.”

“Maybe later. We're guards today, so we should probably not distract ourselves from that. Oh, and Clarine will be joining us,” Dorothy tried to smile. “You were telling Sister Ellen that the people around Araphen didn't get to see healers very often, weren't you, Chad?”

The boy looked startled, and then scowled. “We know how to make do, though. Lycia has a lot of medicinal herbs.”

“So does Etruria,” Dorothy agreed, “but Bern doesn't in a lot of areas, according to Sister Ellen. In the high mountains priests are obligated to go on rounds of the villages up there, and heal anyone for the hospitality that they would be given. I think that was why she was so shocked when she heard how it works here. Anyway, if you know of anyone who might need some extra help with the healing, it would be good to tell us.”

“No one has healers here?” Clarine's sharp voice made Rutger turn in surprise. She was leading her pony this time, her face a little red, but she had her staff in hand, and an extra one in the saddle quiver. “How—you have to have healers!”

Chad stepped up to her, his expression mulish, and the fraying hems of his rough shirt obvious, now that he was without his ubiquitous cloak. “There's a priest who makes his rounds around Araphen. He'd usually fix the whole orphanage for free, if Father asked, but priests have to eat, too.”

Clarine's eyes widened as though someone had suggested that someone replace her mount with a giant spider. “But, the church should provide for that! They provide for everything. Why, Father Saul even has Dorothy to guard him against bandits.”

“Yes, but Saul is on a dangerous mission, which isn't quite the same as doing something unglamorous like healing people who need to be able to work every day of their lives,” Rutger knew he wasn't quite fair, but the remark sailed over the heads of the assembled children.

Dorothy however, gave him a look. The mercenary shrugged.

Most of the tribes in Sacae trained their own shamans, and there had been quite a few healers in Bulgar, Eliminean, traditional priests, and secular quacks alike. It used to be that people from Bern and Ilia would come to Bulgar if they had any reason to be on the trade roads, just for the medicine. But in places where the only healing came from the Eliminean church, he could guess that poor farmers and orphans weren't always a priority.

He glanced around the high walls of the keep, noting the banners floating in the lazy summer breeze, and listened to the sounds of the lively castle town beyond the outer gate. Araphen was the second largest city in Lycia, with all of the money that the trades here entailed. Maybe it wasn't really the church's fault that the people in the land outside of the bustling town couldn't afford healers.

As Rutger's gaze swept back to the gate, he saw a flash of pink and white that resolved quite quickly into Sister Ellen and Wendy approaching the little group. Wendy eyed them all, trying to look like a seasoned veteran and guardian of the gates. “Everyone, you're free to leave. And I've given curfew passes to Sister Ellen, so you'll be able to get through both the castle and the town gates after dark. I'll be head of guard duty for the rest of the watch.”

Even as the Wendy disappeared into the guard house at the side of the door, and the gate creaked open, the knowledge that he had volunteered to shepherd a nursery outing hit Rutger once more. And it would be an outing that lasted well past dark from the sounds of it. Lugh and Chad seemed excited enough, quickly showing the group byways past the castle, and marveling at all of the construction going on in the richer parts of the city.

Not many people were out right now, and most of the inhabitants they passed had gathered lazily in public squares to nap, or slowly play dice games in the heat. A stone mason sitting in the shade of one of the great houses with his friends grumbled about dust getting in an old burn wound. Clarine and Sister Ellen seemed to come to a bit of a scuffle over who would help him. Rather, Sister Ellen began asking questions, and then Clarine jumped in before a healing staff could be waved. Rutger turned away, searching for alleys and people like, well, the boy at his elbow for a start.

He stared at Chad for long enough for the boy to step back uncomfortably. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” Chad continued to stare.

Rutger wondered if he might be outclassed by this stare. The boy's eyebrows seemed to have been made for scowling even at his happiest. Right now the child was doing an owl impression, and he looked like a very cross owl. Rutger decided to ignore it, as Chad had said it was nothing.

He scanned the surroundings once again, faintly aware of how ridiculous it was to be protecting two healers and three children in full daylight. Even with the neighborhood's current dilapidation, it was easy to see that this area was too well guarded for any thieves or brigands to start a brawl.

Chad continued to stare. “You're really handy with that sword, aren't you?”

Rutger snorted. “No.”

“Yes, you are. I was watching—”

“I meant 'no, I don't teach others.' Stick to cutting purses.”

“I wasn't gonna ask for any lessons,” the way Chad turned away told Rutger that his denial was a lie. “So, what are you doing?”

“Guarding.”

“Don't you need to be looking at what you're guarding? Or is that fountain really in danger, huh?” Chad got a little credit for trying to be lippy and tough, but Rutger hoped that healing honors discussion finished up soon.

“Dorothy has her eye on the healers. I'm looking for anyone who might be sneaking up on us.”

He noticed the scowl at his elbow turn to exasperation. Well, given that Rutger was surveying basically an empty street, filled with sunlight and the peaceful sounds of moving water, he couldn't blame the boy. This was not exactly guarding a caravan at the height of bandit season in the Talivar mountains. Not that impressing a child was his intent, but to a thief who had grown up in the area, Rutger probably seemed as though he was putting on too much of a show of being a guard.

And a second after that thought, Chad voiced similar skepticism. “Who is going to sneak up on us now? Everyone should be at their meditations, or taking naps. Anyway, this is the plaza district. All the thieving happens after curfew, here. Or when the couriers are running messages.”

“I bet it's easy to slip into one of these houses, dressed up as a messenger,” Rutger surmised, remembering several occasions when Chad had leaped over walls, or picked locks with the speed of someone who thought dogs were after him. Maybe that had all begun here only a year ago.

“Yeah, it is.”

“It's easy to attack, when you can chose and plan your advance. That's the nice thing about being a thief, or a kidnapper or a bandit, or a soldier. Dorothy and I, however, are guards, and no one has told us their plans, so we don't know when the attack is coming. So, we get to watch all the shadows, and hope that the burned bits of the buildings here aren't concealing any one interested in stealing healing staves, or the magic workers that go with them.”

“People would be after Sister Ellen?” Lugh asked from behind him, sounding somewhere between shocked and angry.

Rutger thought about admitting that a kidnapping in the well watched neighborhoods close to the castle walls and near the guards' barracks was unlikely. Of course, admitting that he was not really needed to guard anyone was not going to do wonders for Rutger's pride.

He could let the boys draw their own conclusions. They had, after all, been the ones to start this whole conversation about the rarity of healers in the first place. However, guarding them would be much less irritating if they weren't jumping at every shadow in the defense of a priestess. “Probably not here. I doubt even inside the worst parts of the city anyone would dare ambush a party like ours. Unless your orphanage is really far from the outskirts, and we'll be tired walking back, this shouldn't be too exciting an outing.”

Dorothy sidled up to the small group. “Why do you always sound so disappointed that there's peace in the world, Master Rutger? Anyway, Lugh, Chad, which way do we take? We should be getting on.”

Lugh scrambled after Clarine, who had already taken off, heading for the end of the street. At a more leisurely pace, but clearly intent on catching up, Dorothy followed them, overtaking Sister Ellen, who was still saying her good byes to the stone mason and his foreman—who it seemed was a forewoman, now that Rutger had closed the distance.

“Truly, if your guild—or anyone in town—is in need of healing services, Mistress Rachel, for as long as the conference, I can see to it that we fix what we are able to.”

“It's a lot of work for one healer,” the woman eyed her with wary uncertainty. “Even if your apprentice there helps you.”

“There are other members of the clergy, and we would be remiss not spending the time of Devotions in service,” Sister Ellen smiled. “Please, Guildmistress, I know my limits as to healing as well as you know how much stress stone can take. Unless a plague should break out,” the entire group went white, and Rutger was not the only one who murmured a prayer that the spirits of sickness did not take that as an invitation. Well, he assumed that the Lycians were saying something to that effect, “we will be fine.”

They bade the small group goodbye, and continued to catch up with Dorothy's party. Rutger felt chills still sweeping over him. “You shouldn't have mentioned sickness so casually.”

As with every conversation they had so far, Sister Ellen flinched. “O-of course.”

“Why not?” Chad piped up.

“Because that kind of talk is just tempting fate, and with all of these people here, a plague would spread like wildfire,” Rutger growled, trying to seem in control of the situation. “Sickness takes what it wills, and even if you fight it off, it leaves you weak. If you're choosing to remain with this army for long, learn that a plague is the worst enemy you will ever encounter.”

“But if you keep clean of contamination—”

“Master Rutger is right, Chad,” Sister Ellen interrupted. “I know the teachings say that those who keep clean are saved, but sicknesses are not always spread by blood. Sometimes the breath that gives us life becomes infected. And then the people who we fight beside might end up killing us accidentally. It's a very scary thing for soldiers.”

Rutger left off scanning the shadows to shoot the priestess a look. She sounded as though she spoke from experience. But how could a companion of the Princess of Bern learn about the toll an epidemic could take on an army? “Have you been in an outbreak?”

The assured calm when speaking to Chad vanished, and Sister Ellen looked away, obviously finding the bases of the walls around these houses very interesting. She must think he really was trying to kill her just for being from Bern. Rutger went back to peering into shadows, and trying to become totally aware of his surroundings. Perhaps if they ignored each other she would get the message that he was not interested in revenge upon her.

“Yes. There was a pox outbreak in the southeast a few years ago. Some trading ship probably brought it in, and the plague spread up into the mountains before the army and church could contain it. Because the villages are so isolated in Bern, there aren't often massive epidemics, but when there is an outbreak in a region, all the members of the church are obligated to go.

“Disease does not heal away like a flesh wound. We can repair the organs and muscles, and the physical damage, but disease lurks like poison, and you have to make the body outlast the disease, or find a physical cure. One healer, healing a whole village once a day, or more, if the disease is fast spreading, will burn out their magic far too quickly.

“So every cleric available must come in, and for the remote villages high in the mountains, the only way to do that is with wyverns. If you ever wish to see a wyvern knight panic, tell him he has pox duty. The whole army is terrified of disease, and the spread of plague. In the lowlands, the regular army often has to secure the roads, and set up quarantine, but everyone knows which divisions are most likely to become contaminated, and bring the contagion to the rest.”

Hm. Good to know that wyvern knights were afraid of something. Not anything that he could use, but something. Maybe he should see if he was any better at archery than he had been as a boy. He would have liked to have some defense against wyverns.

But she had been healing during a pox outbreak? She was lucky to have survived. Or was a better magician than he had assumed. Maybe that was why she was willing to put herself on the battlefield. Most Elimineans were terrified that the touch of blood would stain their souls. Even the healing priests worried about the contamination of blood shed in violence, from the public sermons that Rutger had heard. But if she had already been through a plague, a little violent blood must seem like nothing.

Or, in addition to having at least one member of the army who she thought was planning her murder, and no familiar faces in the ranks aside from her mistress, Sister Ellen was choosing to go out and put her soul in danger to help their defiance against her homeland continue. Rutger scowled. He wished he hadn't thought of it in that light.

“I'm not planning to murder you.”

In his peripheral vision, Sister Ellen jumped. Her response was barely audible. “I—um, thank you, sir?”

“I thought you should know,” he was going to miss unreasonably disliking her just for being from Bern. It had been good to know she was afraid and possibly feeling guilty for what the soldiers of Bern had done to Sacae every time she jumped away from him.

Chad, probably trying to seem older and tougher than his experience had made him, snorted. “Well, that's what we all want to hear out of a guard.”

At the next plaza, the figures of Clarine, Dorothy, and Lugh were clearly waiting for their half of the group. Rutger thought that Clarine's pony might be tapping its hoof impatiently. Perhaps he had made a mistake when taking it out of Laus' stables. Animals shouldn't be too like their masters, after all.

When they caught up, the group was mostly silent, Lugh and Chad forging ahead, and pointing out shops and houses they recognized. Sister Ellen appeared to be paying rapt attention to serious contemplation of how changed everything was. Rutger wanted to roll his eyes. Of course everything had changed so much in a few months, after an invasion by Bern and a second one by the Alliance Army.

“Why were you all so slow?” Clarine asked Rutger, as their route took them down a narrow street, passing single file between the buildings and trying not to get their shoes too muddy. “Dorothy and I were waiting ages.”

“Sister Ellen was telling us about Bern.”

“Oh,” Clarine said, and for a moment Rutger thought that it would quiet her. Instead, she pulled her pony to a halt ahead of him, and turned to look back, her face set in determination. “You're not going to kill her, are you? Because she's frowsy and dull and not a real lady at all, but she's in our army, and I can't have you doing things that will reflect badly on me.”

Rutger tried to chivy Clarine along, while trying to string her sentence together in his head in a way that followed some sort of logical pattern. Neither the sentence nor the pony obeyed his will. “That was also something we talked about. Clarine, you're keeping everyone waiting.”

“You should call me Lady Clarine,” but the little girl tapped the sides of her pony with her heels, and they began to move forward again. “But you're not going to be unhappy about this. Just because she is from Bern and everything?”

“No,” Rutger's mouth twitched in an errant smile, and he could help adding sardonically, “Lady Clarine.”

“That's good then,” something still seemed to be on Clarine's mind. “You know, everyone in the castle is talking about you.”

“Mm,” Now who was sleepless and paranoid, Treck?

“They say you'll betray us.”

“Brother Saul has some sort of bet going about that.”

“Well, that's gambling,” Clarine waved away the suggestion. “Anyway, I said you wouldn't. So you'd better not. I don't need a guard who ruins my good word. Everyone is being so mean about me already.”

“How so, Lady Clarine?” As they exited the alley's mouth, Dorothy was waiting for the two. She nodded toward a street across the plaza where the other three were silhouettes in the distance. Then her keen attention switched straight back to Clarine. “Why are people being mean to you?”

“I—” surprisingly Clarine blushed. Rutger hadn't known that there was a bone in her body that felt shame. “General Cecilia said that when the talks were over she would happily escort me home. But she doesn't understand! I have to see my brother again, and until that happens I cannot go home! Nor do I wish to be escorted anywhere but to where Klein is. I know this journey of mine has been a little longer than mother and father thought, but I must show them that I am not a child!”

“You're not supposed to be here,” Dorothy began slowly, and Rutger bit back a sarcastic laugh. Anyone would have been able to tell that.

Clarine's hands tightened on the reins, but she was a good enough horsewoman not to tug on them in her irritation. “I am supposed to be here! I am supposed to be wherever my brother is. But he was reassigned in his troop placement, and I have to find him, that's all. I can do that much better with the Lycian army than I can wandering around an empty mansion.”

“Lady Clarine, your brother is in the Etrurian military? How, exactly, are you supposed to find him in Lycia, if he isn't attending the conference at Araphen?”

“Isn't it obvious, Dorothy? General Cecilia said that we would be going to join the Etrurian army in the Western Isles soon enough. I'll seek out information there, and along the way. I heard that was where he was re-stationed, but he had gone into Lycia briefly, so, that's why I followed his route, and ended up in Laus' foul clutches.”

Huh. The Western Isles. And Dorothy had looked nervous when that change of plans was so casually announced. Rutger caught her eyes. “Is there something we should know about the Western Isles, Dorothy?”

The archer shook her head quickly. “Oh, no, Master Rutger. Just, the governor in charge is friend of a church bishop and, well, I suppose this is prejudice, but Bishop Yodel isn't very fond of him. He probably will have us guarding the gem shipments from the Isles or something. Which isn't getting us any closer to dragons, now is it?”

“Or defeating Bern,” Rutger added, feeling grim bitterness now that the future of the army seemed to be a certainty, rather than rumor and supposition in a hallway.

Clarine stared at him with an expression that suggested that he should be abashed. “Well, yes, but you would have to go there anyway, since Klein is supposed to be there. If I can't get Sir Lance to follow me, I should at least have you for protection.”

“I could always drop you off in Etruria wherever your General Cecilia wanted, and then continue on my own way apart from the army.”

“You wouldn't dare,” Clarine hissed, thumping the edge of her saddle in emphasis, and causing the horse to shy nervously.

Rutger grinned, but Dorothy assumed he was speaking seriously, and seemed to be interested in backing up the threat. “Would it really be such a bad thing if he did? The army might pass your estate anyway, and who knows if we'll meet Lord Klein, ever, given how big the Isles are.”

“We can't!” Clarine exclaimed, as they moved around a drover's wagon and continued up a rutted street. “I vowed I was going to find Klein and travel all the way to him on my own, and I can't just return like some silly little rabbit just because there is a war on!”

The street petered out into clusters of houses fighting for space before the city wall. Lugh must be thinking everyone was extremely slow, because this was the second time that he was waiting. Chad was chatting with the guard at the gate. However, the sudden battle of wills flaring between Dorothy and Clarine was not going to speed up.

The archer gripped her bow as she drew in a breath. “Well, I think, if we do get as far as your estate, you should stop in and see your parents.”

“I—no one is there right now, probably,” Clarine's head dropped to contemplating her reigns. “Father has his research, and it often takes him away. That was why I thought I'd go see Klein. When Father and Mother return, they will see how much I've grown. I'm a true lady, who helps those in danger, just like you, Dorothy.”

And the determined tension snapped out of Dorothy's shoulders with an embarrassed laugh. “Lady Clarine! Thank you, but—but, we'd better hurry. Lugh is looking impatient.”

Rutger spared another glance at the gate in time to see Lugh turn a cartwheel on the street. It looked to him as though the young mage knew how to entertain himself. However, Clarine and Dorothy were hurrying, Clarine obviously feeling as though she had won, as he heard her instructing Dorothy on true ladylike behavior.

“I think you've been doing better on the battlefield, too,” Clarine said as thee group reunited and passed through the open gate. “Your clothing is still so rough, but you have been drawing your bow with such elegance recently.”

“I've been practicing,” Dorothy sounded almost shy, though Rutger suspected that was the effect of trying to deal with Clarine's conversational momentum. “It's not as though we have a lot to do right now.”

Rutger caught himself nodding with the same amount of fervor that Clarine turned on critiquing aesthetic sense.

“Well, at least you have guard duty,” Clarine pointed out. “I'm not supposed to go up on the walls, but supposed to be ready for any attack to come running. I ask you, how am I supposed to know what to do? I can't go too far into the castle, but there are only so many times I can take a trot around the keep.”

Sister Ellen kept her voice low, as though she was murmuring secrets. “I have been volunteering to take food up to the guards, but it's not enough to do for a whole day. I hope that offering our healing services in the morning will give us something more to do.”

Clarine shifted in her saddle, her whole body radiating irritation. “I'm not going to do it just because you said so. I already had a similar scheme, you know. Dorothy suggested it. Didn't you, Dorothy?”

Put in the spot of diplomat, Dorothy managed to pull through admirably. “I think Sister Ellen's plan to get the other clergy to serve during devotions is really good. It's a great thing to lead by example, don't you think, Lady Clarine? Also,” and her voice gained a witheringly grim edge, “Brother Saul could use something more useful to do with his mornings.”

“I thought he was watching the council for the Eliminean Church,” Sister Ellen said, her voice gently shifting upward inquiringly, as though trying to ask the question without being so rude as to ask it.

“And yet he only has been reporting on the figures of the noblewomen,” Dorothy pointed out. “Thank goodness that a few other attendees are also reporting to the Bishop. I think this plan to get the healers to do something outside the walls of the keep is quite good. Also,” and the archer brightened, “it gives me something to do, as well. It's not just you healers who are sitting around half the day with nothing to do.”

Lugh just groaned. “I know what you mean. At least you get put on guard duty pretty often. They seemed to have suddenly decided I'm too young to be a guard. And there's nothing to do here besides guard. The castle has a library, but I'm not allowed in without an escort, and most of the books aren't really interesting. They have a lot of law books and stuff, but only some theory books, and no hymnals or ballad collections or anything fun at all.”

“Ray would kick your butt for ignoring the big old magic ones, though,” Chad grinned.

“Yeah, well, there's some butt kicking waiting to go around,” Lugh's voice wavered a bit, as though he was trying to convince himself.

Chad's voice was much less uncertain. “Pft. That's for sure.”

They began pointing out features of the countryside around Araphen's city that they remembered with nostalgia. A lot of those features seemed to involve “remember when Guilo caught us stealing olives from his tree?” and similar stories of conquest. Rutger grinned to himself as they detailed catching rabbits by a small forest at dawn. It did not sound as though their young snares had been very effective, but in Sacae that would have been proper hunting for young boys. It was good to know they had something like that before the war.

It was clear that Bern troops had come over the mountains from this direction. Everywhere Rutger looked, fields were trampled, or the little thickets showed broken branches where large numbers of soldiers had marched. The clusters of houses built for the workers of Araphen's lands showed signs of fire that had not yet been repaired. Some houses showed signs of being rebuilt, and far off ox teams worked undamaged fields, but Rutger would have bet half his pay with Dieck right then that less than half of the peasants on these lands had survived the invasion.

Rutger's stomach clenched, seeing the black stains on stone walls, and swathes of shiny black fields. Funny, even though the sky was now summer bright instead of gray with late winter rain, the smell of sharp soot was the same, and the echoing emptiness still held power here. As they approached a broken stone wall, the conversation from the boys began to die, despite Rutgers desperate wish that the children's chatter would continue to fill the air. This place knew that there were supposed to be more people here, and brooded on the lack of humanity with an oppressive resentment.

Picking their silent away around the fallen stones that littered this bend in the track, the group crested a hill, and the lone orphanage appeared. It looked larger than most of the buildings of its kind that Rutger had known in Bulgar. This orphanage probably had once held more than five children at a time, as it reached up for two floors, like a city house, rather than the workers' cottages in the area, and had a small enclosed garden, which no city house could have boasted.

The boy's faces lost color as the group approached quietly. The burned smell which had accompanied the trip intensified, and when they reached the front gate, it became clear that they had approached the good side of the orphanage. Two walls and most of the roof had survived a fire, but the north side of the building bulged outward on the bottom floor, and was an open hole on the top floor. Some starlings flitted out as they pushed aside the hingeless set of boards that had once been a gate.

Lugh's laugh was thin and short. “Father always said the birds would never be happy until they got the entire dormitory to themselves. I'm glad they're living on.”

Chad turned away from the building and ran through the yard. Sister Ellen and Dorothy started after him immediately. Lugh stood still, however, looking up at his home. Rutger waited with Clarine, who was tying her pony to the remains of the gate post.

At length, Lugh tore his gaze away. “They didn't try to come back.”

He walked through the narrow yard, keeping the whole side of the building on his right, and pressing against the old fence line that must have once protected the garden. Most of the fence had been ripped aside, but Lugh continued along it until he reached the point that must have been the entrance to the garden. The wild grass has been worn through to the dirt here, and the impression of what seemed like hundreds of feet had been left in the ground.

At the very center of the old entrance someone had stuck a broad sword in the ground. It was fitting, Rutger thought, for beyond, where food must once have been grown, he could see the miniature hills and valleys of a new graveyard. Chad stood at the center of the hallowed ground, his scowl almost puzzled instead of angry.

He looked up when Lugh approached, and waved at the nearest little mound which was topped with one of the stones from the old wall. “Who did this?”

“I—I don't know,” Lugh cast an embarrassed look towards Sister Ellen, who walked among the graves, her head bent. “Maybe one of the soldiers?”

Rutger shook his head. “No one from Bern gives their dead to Mother Earth. They burn the bodies after funeral rites.”

“It's the same in most places in Etruria,” Dorothy agreed quietly. “The church tries to be sensitive to local traditions elsewhere, of course. I would guess someone from the church came here after your friends were sent to a new orphanage. Sister Ellen said the land has been properly consecrated.”

Rutger tried to picture a lone priest getting down to the grisly task of making the garden into a proper graveyard, spade in hand. Chad muttered that there were too many graves here—maybe everyone who had been struck down outside the city walls during the invasion had been interred here. A priest, all these bodies, a spade, and whatever holy rites Elimineans deemed necessary. And then a sword jammed into the earth? Maybe it was some Lycian signal that these people had died as warriors resisting the invasion.

“Let's eat,” Lugh declared, turning away from the little bone yard swiftly.

The group followed him back to the fence, Chad and Sister Ellen lingering longest with the dead. Lugh spread out his cloak, with its treasure trove of cheeses, and sat on the sun warm grass. Clarine giggled, seeing the short boy nearly disappear in the wild vegetation. Chad outright laughed as he set down his own cloak, and calling Lugh 'shorty.'

Rutger stood guard for the first half of the meal, wordlessly handing over his belt knife when Clarine announced that she had nothing to eat with. His thoughts circled the little graves. He had not stayed in Bulgar long enough to see to the dead. What would happen if he survived carrying out his vengeance? He certainly doubted that he would. One lone man against an entire kingdom never really had a chance, no matter how effective the army he served was.

But if he did survive, and went back to the home he had abandoned, would he find nothing but a graveyard? Maybe the ghosts he had allowed to be murdered would be waiting for him, ready to wrap him up in their grasp and take him beyond life.

Dorothy rose, stretching, and cut through his thoughts with an offer to take his post. Rutger took the offer, and grabbed a slice of bread for his meal. The talk around the cloaks seemed to be light as possible as though to ignore the graves just beyond them. Lugh and Chad led the conversations, remembering what it was like to live in the orphanage. They made it sound lonely, despite the number of other children there, and despite the size of the house, there was a whole lot of talk about saving food and being careful.

Most of it surprised Rutger. He had never really thought about what happened to children too young to survive on their own, but with no tribe to claim them. There had been houses in Bulgar set up for such children, but few children lived in in those conditions. It sounded as though this place had been filled to overflowing with the orphans of Araphen's streets.

Eventually even conversation fell away, and they lay on the grass soaking in the afternoon heat until bells began to toll from the city walls. With most of the cheese eaten, and all of the bread devoured, Sister Ellen suggested that they head back, if the boys felt that they had said good bye properly. Lugh looked toward the graveyard one last time, and shivered, while Chad just shrugged.

They rolled up the cheese in Lugh's cloak once more, and left for the city. Guard duty on the way back was slightly more interesting, as more people were out and about, hurrying through the streets. Rutger took point, glaring at anyone he thought looked as though they had a thief's itchy fingers, but their little group made it back to the castle unmolested, aside from a few requests for healing.

Wendy let them inside the castle gate, and looked pleased when Sister Ellen asked if she could get Brother Saul out of the conference. Wendy sent off a messenger to the keep, while telling Rutger and Dorothy that the night shifts had been changed about.

“Do you know why?” Dorothy asked.

Pink armor clattered together as Wendy shrugged. “General Roy wanted to talk to the troops alone after supper. It does mean that you and Rutger don't have the dog watch any more, but I think you two were reassigned to this watch, which began last bell. Check the board.”

Rutger was already in front of the complicated schedule, trying to find his marker. He was supposed to be relieving Dieck, while Dorothy took Bors' position. Well, at least he knew where on the wall Dieck's sentry duty had been, and it was an easy jog to the northern rampart.

Both men were surprised as the two stragglers made it up the wall.

“Barth is supposed to be taking over at the Recitations bell,” Bors protested when Dorothy told him to head down from the baking heat and get some rest. “And I thought one of Marquess Worde's troops was taking over for Captain Dieck at sunset.”

“General Roy has an announcement to make after supper,” Dorothy replied.

Dieck just grinned, and clapped Bors on the back. “Don't go looking the gift horse in the mouth. I know you've only done half a shift, but I've been up here all day. I'll take the break.”

“Well, I suppose,” Bors was already heading for the stairs, probably more than ready to get out of his armor, despite the reluctance in his voice.

Dieck hung back for a moment, moving next to Rutger so casually that Rutger had to wonder if he was about to be attacked. “And a word in your ear,” Dieck murmured. “I think we need to talk about what and when you're allowed to do to me.”

“Oh?” Rutger tried to see if the bite he had left on Dieck's neck was as red as he had remembered from the morning, but the mercenary wasn't interested in showing his back to Rutger at the moment.“I don't get to play with your delicate skin while you've got sunburn, is that it?”

Dieck laughed, a hand sneaking out to loop easily around Rutger's waist. “No, not quite. Though your use of subtlety there was masterful, I'm sure. Just—just don't hold me down in public like that, okay? Not from behind, when I can't see what you're going to do.”

Dieck still looked his confident self as he stared down at Rutger. The Sacaen mercenary thought about the tight resistance to his hold earlier that morning. It had felt good, having Dieck push against him, but now that he thought of it, if he had been slower with the kiss, Dieck might have really tried to break from his hold. Had Dieck been actually scared for a moment there? “Okay. You still don't mind being held down when we're alone, right?”

“Not at all,” and the confidence lifted to that near eagerness which always excited Rutger. “It's just when we're not clearly playing that it freaks me out. Anyway, just wanted to clear that up with you. Have fun staring at fields and trees for the rest of the day.”

Dieck released him, and Rutger watched the mercenary saunter away. Hmm. He should have asked why, but he could find out later, he supposed. It wasn't as though they never saw one another, even if Rutger had been trying to avoid paying his end of the bet. He wandered back to his post, only stopping when he caught Dorothy's startled expression.

“Yes?”

“You're smiling.”

“Yes.”

She looked as though she wanted to say something more, but at the last moment she turned away. Rutger trained his eyes on the horizon, trying to find a careful balance between alert and relaxed. And certainly not thinking sarcastic responses to statements that questioned his ability to smile. He smiled all the time. Well. He tried to put a sinister edge on it sometimes, but in the same way a poisonous snake had bright colors. It was a way to warn others.

The rest of the afternoon drained away. At one point a squirrel attracted attention, running along a pine bough, but before either Rutger or Dorothy could consider using it for target practice it vanished, and with it the only sight they had of other living things. Out loud, Dorothy envied the south watch, which at least were able to look at people going about their business in the city. The steeple of the plasterers' guildhall was nice and all, but you had to really crane your neck to see it.

They greeted their relief watch with good humor as the sun went down, and headed to the inner keep for dinner. While the conference was ongoing, the whole great hall was packed with Lycian nobility and the upper echelons of their retainers. The more mercenary parts of Roy's army had been squeezed into the guard barracks mess hall, and usually scheduled so that not more than half of the army was taking their meal at the same time. Tonight it was packed, or perhaps the mess hall just felt packed because large people like Sir Bors and Sir Barth were there, the later of whom had come directly to the meal without removing his armor. Another, not precisely unexpected, change was the presence of both Roy and Lilina.

The seasoned veterans and young warriors alike watched the two young lords who had been herded away from their little army almost upon arrival in Araphen. For a few moments, Roy tried to act as though the whole meeting was a normal meal, but when he reached across Lilina to grab the salt bowl, and saw her staring at him with the same expectant intensity as the rest of the soldiers, something clearly snapped inside.

Breathing in deeply, Roy stood, thumping on the table with a wooden mug, as though he really needed to grab attention in a room filled with an army that knew him, and knew the purpose of the meeting tonight. Since the ringing silence could not become any more silent, it decided to thicken around Roy, until the young man cleared his throat nervously.

“Uh. Look, it's been a long time just guarding this castle. I know it has. We're getting reports from all over Lycia about how well reconstruction is going, and, well, it really does look as though Bern has lost interest in invading. Maybe they're waiting until next summer. It will be Autumn soon, and none of the lands that Bern has conquered are known for their bountiful harvests at the best of times, and Bern itself has to feed people. King Zephiel is probably pulling back for the rest of the season, if not a full year.

“So, we did it. Uh. You guys, we defeated the biggest military power in Elibe. That was us, at Ostia. So, look around. We won. You all won. But, we didn't win alone. We didn't win without help. From Etruria, who are now our allies, and let's face it, since we are the only full army Lycia has without counting private men at arms, Lycia needs their protection. We've got to—we've got to prove our small army to them,” Roy looked as though he was swallowing something bitter as he said that.

“We know we are one of the best forces on the continent, but there aren't many of us, and Etruria had to risk a lot to come to our aid at Ostia, so as a favor, we're reinforcing their army in administering the Western Isles. Lots of Etrurians think that talk of an alliance is enough to keep Bern from attacking again. They say we won't be giving up anything, and their main army will be guarding Lycia while we help the auxiliary forces in the Islands.”

Roy gazed around the crowed mess hall and the candle lit faces. “To be honest, and I wish it were true. I wish Bern was tired of invading, and we could repay the Etrurians by cleaning up their bandit problems without worry. But we all know it's not true. We're in this, we're _still_ in this, through thick and thin, because, we all know this isn't the end of King Zephiel's plans. We know that he's got a plan of some kind to make dragons return. And we have to be ready for that. We will go to the Western Isles, and we will help the Etrurians, until spring. Then, alliance or not, we have got to continue this war. I know some of you had families, or plans that did not involve a long trip north, but I ask you to stay with this army. If you leave here, I understand. If you're with me all the way to the Isles though, we will leave at dawn in two days.”

Roy sat down so quickly, he almost disappeared under the table, and hand to be held up by Wolt, who was grinning with stars in his eyes. Like most of the less affected members of the army, Rutger turned to his food without too much comment, though he caught Dieck looking oddly withdrawn across from him.

“Something on your mind, or have you seen a slug among the olives?” Rutger asked.

Dieck just shrugged, trying to affect his usual casual demeanor. “Well, if the Etrurian court is sending us to the Isles, I get the feeling it's not going to be a sightseeing tour. Where are you going to be headed?”

“I've never been to the Isles before. I might like sea voyaging more than mountains.”

The look this response got was unreadable. “We're not going to meet with a lot of Bern's troops there.”

“We will come the spring. I can wait,” after all, the dead were unlikely to get any more dead over the course of a season, Rutger reasoned. He began to pay attention to his food, rather than think of empty streets and homes that had become shells of houses.


	5. From Araphen to the Isles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it would be worth knowing more about Dieck after all. The fact that he is interested surprises Rutger a little bit.

It was good to be on the road again. The army seemed to be full of life after the dull and staid routines of Araphen. Lilina and Roy mixed with the troops far too low in station to be allowed to speak to them during the conference. Marcus and Merlinus were often found sharing nips of hard northern cider, and even joking, much to the horror of the young cavaliers.

“You'll get over it,” Treck advised sagely. “Everyone's human at some point.”

They returned to Ostia, keeping an eye on the re-construction of the defensive castle, and then took the mountain pass into Etruria. The journey through the mountains was tiring as ever, but when they made it through the sharp terrain they were greeted by Etruria's rivers.

Rutger had always known in a vague way that Etruria was a center of trade that rivaled Bulgar's mercantile pull in the east. Everyone knew that Etruria's merchants had brought scholars and musicians into the realm, and then spread them out all over again to the rest of Elibe, and they changed the whole culture of the west. For some reason, however, he had not really grasped that the whole kingdom was greatly invested in getting goods and people from one place to another as fast as possible, and the fastest way was through the thousands of rivers that ran to the northern sea.

The barge convoy they joined was a massive thing that shot straight to Aquelia, bringing horses, grain, flour, and fruit for the army in days, when a wagon convoy would have needed weeks to get as far. Rutger quite liked it, rushing along with the current, watching the gently rolling hills turn into flat marshland and then turn back again. Until he saw rising mansions of Etrurian aristocracy, usually hidden around bends of the river or waiting in ambush behind screens of tall trees, he could fool himself into thinking that he was back home, almost.

Homesickness was not the only affliction the crew suffered. Oujay was, for lack of a better word, seasick for most of the voyage. While Rutger practiced moving while on a moving deck, and Wendy just tried to practice moving in general, the younger mercenary practiced keeping down his lunch, usually with Dieck in attendance, and grinning far too openly, but still being kind and rather solicitous in his way. Rutger pretended not to notice, but he couldn't help suggesting, offhandedly, to Lilina that perhaps Oujay could use some friendly Lycian help.

He began challenging Dieck to bouts again, to pass time. Although the whole army had run of the barge convoy, hopping from one barge to the next with the ease of any of the regular crewmen at this point, space was cramped, and semi-private lives became everyone's business, particularly after sundown. They both decided that amusing as everyone's reactions were, the possibility of being interrupted by children was not going to be fun or any sort of turn on. This left Rutger restive and determined to be physically active somehow.

Dieck had tried to point out that he didn't find checking shadows for lurking swordsmen to be any more of a turn on, to which Rutger pointed out that it wasn't supposed to be. They were dancing between life and death, after all. Also, Rutger was sure that Dieck found victory just as thrilling as he did, given the way their fights tended to dissolve into heated kissing as soon as Dieck managed to pin him against a grain crate or the deck.

Rutger was offering up his neck after one particularly drawn out loss. Dick seemed intent on licking up every last drop of sweat, but every now and then he would nip at Rutger's skin. Rutger tried to reward him with deep bites to his lips, or anything that came within reach, but today the mercenary Captain was feeling playful, and constantly distracting him with clever hands.

Rutger felt a reckless grin slip over his face as Dieck nearly crushed him against the side of the barge's cabin. As though he needed any reminder that his controll had been taken away as soon as Dieck had trapped Rutger's hands behind his own back, the mercenary tilted his face up to nibble on his jaw, being sure to manhandle him a little too much. And with a little wriggling on Rutger's part, pressing into that hard body, he was able to free his right hand. Dieck jerked and bit happily as Rutger wove fingers through his thick hair. Sweet pressure and heat took Rutger's mouth by storm, and he tightened his grasp.

“Have you seen—oh! Sorry!” the final word came out in a high pitched squeak as Wolt came barreling around the cabin and stopped short.

Unlike Rutger, whose eyes snapped immediately onto the intruder, willing him out of existence as a hot tongue did fantastic things to his pulse, Dieck continued his assault for a few moments more. Maybe, Rutger thought, just shade too smugly, Dieck wouldn't have noticed anything if Rutger had not gone ridged, seeing the archer.

“I, uh, wow. Very sorry. Really. Very, very sorry. I just, uh,” Wolt's babbling, of course, might also have been what pulled Dieck's attention away.

Both mercenaries looked at one another, and then sighed in exaggerated unison. Dieck stepped away, and Rutger pulled his left hand from behind his back as well. For a second he rubbed at the wrist to get circulation back, and then headed for his discarded sword. Since Rutger was occupied, it fell on Dieck to make the situation less awkward.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Wolt replied, looking even less at ease. “Just wanted to know if General Roy was here. Guess not. Um. I mean, he's not here. With you two. I mean around. Around you two. Thanks! Bye!”

“He and Lady Sue were on the Captain's barge,” Rutger volunteered. He had been avoiding Sue just in case she was feeling the same familiarity wrapped homesickness, and had made it a policy to be three boats away from her at any time.

“Oh. Right,” Wolt was still staring at the growing space between the mercenaries, probably picturing the recent encounter. As though he realized that he was acting like a stranded fish and being too obvious, the archer suddenly spun on his heels and fled.

Dieck watched him go. “Huh. Well, that tears things. If he's looking for Roy, half the army will be searching for the little general, as well. No rest for the wicked. I probably have responsibilities I'm supposed to be taking care of.”

Moving to the stern of the barge, Rutger shrugged. “I'm supposed to be at sword practice.”

Neither of them felt very like getting to their respective tasks though. Dieck joined him, watching the spray of the river, and appreciating the taut line between this barge and the next one in the convoy. The setting sun glinted prettily on the water, turning everything a sparkling orange.

Rutger ran his finger over the flat of his sword blade, trying to feel for any unseen weaknesses. It had gotten a lot of use over the months, and was wearing thin. When they stopped in Aquelia he would have to get a new one. Something better than the dross Merlinus handed out to the knights. Lycian broadswords were too unwieldy for his fighting style, and the bastard swords had no real heft behind them. He needed to feel as though he was a furious zephyr, cutting through the breezes in his path.

“It's quite the view isn't it?” Dieck commented to no one in particular.

A pale green field rushed by, turning blue in the coming dusk, and lit overhead by the blazing sky. Rutger gazed longingly at that sky, thinking he might be able to understand how a saint from this land had ascribed the greatest power to the keeper of clouds and stars, forgetting the ways of the Mother Earth and lesser spirits. It was as wide open as the Plains out here.

“Yes. This is home for you then?”

Dieck snorted. “Yeah, I suppose. Home is with my company, now—or maybe it isn't anywhere. But I started out here. Or a place just like it. There are thousands in Etruria.”

“River brat, huh?” That was the name for tribe-less children living on the banks in the few Sacaen river towns, and Rutger suspected it was a fairly universal term. Every town they swept through had been filled with urchins looking meaner and hungrier than Chad, hanging around the jetties, looking for money, or trying to steal fish. He could imagine a young Dieck in among their numbers.

“No. Not quite. Just a boy who didn't want to wait on harvest luck to pay rents and was hoping for a little fame and glory. You like it out here.”

The quick change in topic was expected by now. Rutger's attempts at trying to find out more about Dieck's past were all met by polite guardedness. What he had let slip made it seem not so much as though there was a darkness stalking Dieck's dreams as it looked to be that Dieck's life had changed so drastically that the past was unimportant, and there was no use talking about it.

Rutger was willing to go along with that. If Dieck wasn't concealing anything unpleasant, Rutger could hardly sympathize, and if the change in his life had been a similar nightmare, well, Rutger still might not be the best person to talk to about that. He doubted that he would have told Dieck much of Sacae if Dieck was not basically reliable and level headed. And he doubted Dieck would react well to the full truth, either, so in the end Rutger supposed he didn't trust the other mercenary enough. So there really was no reason for Dieck to talk about his past in return, and Rutger would let him steer the conversation away.

“It's almost like home. Warm, flat, and the sky is huge. Certainly, this is not the Plains, but I like it well enough. How could you tell?”

“You look less like a day blind owl, and more like a sleepy lion, now,” reaching over Dieck gently tucked Rutger's hair back. It was such a familiar gesture now, almost always accompanied by a teasing smile. “Sleeping better?”

That certainly was true. Rutger had never considered that homesickness might be a cause of his restless nights, but even as the notion tantalized him, he remembered that his nightmares had begun after Dieck killed the Paladin, not when he first crossed into Bern's mountains and became truly lost to the Plains. “Being on the move helps. As does knowing that I'll be back to killing Bern's troops by spring. By the way, us having to sleep like fish packed into a barrel here, does it count as repayment for that foolish bet?”

Dieck grinned. “Nope. But nice try weaseling your way out. The whole point is we get to have some fun first. I don't know about you, but Barth's snoring alone is enough to put me off of fun. Anyway, I've had enough charges of corrupting the innocent leveled at me to last a life time.”

Rutger laughed shortly. He wondered if there had ever been a time when he would have been considered innocent by anyone. Probably, when he was younger. But last year's war seemed to be staining everything about his life, future and past. He could feel the blood rushing in a tide to overwhelm the winding streets of his memory until there was nothing left, and he was trapped helpless in a sea of his own destruction.

“What is a lion, anyway?” he asked, trying to pull himself away from his own thoughts.

“Nabatan animals. They're sort of like a bigger version of the hunting cats you get in the Bern mountains. Tons of fur around their heads,” Dieck's glance was too sly for words. “It makes it hard to kill them by slicing at their necks. Pit masters around here like to set them against the fighters to liven up the night rounds.”

That seemed an expensive proposition, to import something so exotic just for arena matches. But Etruria was a wealthy country, and with wealth came excess, as the Ostians were so fond of saying. Usually with their noses in the air. Still, Rutger had never been a fan of arena posturing in the first place, and this did not seem like any better a system. “Maulings make for good entertainment, do they?”

“Well, I didn't enjoy it much at the time, but it certainly made my name,” Dieck mused.

The air hung still between them for a while. Rutger soaked in the words, letting the splashing of the river cover his thoughts. At the bow of the barge he could hear the crewmen shouting. Probably the regular instructions about finding an anchorage for the night. He could remain constant and unaffected by this news, too. “Which of your scars did the lion make, then?”

Rough hands swinging high above his head, Dieck stretched, his cool eyes concentrated upon the water. “I should have figured that was what you cared about. Have you been getting jealous of an animal getting to cut me up before you could?”

Rutger did not dignify the half chuckle with a response. “Those deep ones on your back, maybe? They're not sword scars but—”

“Yeah. He was also responsible for some of my pretty face, and got bits of my arms, too. Tore the muscles pretty badly, but I was lucky. Lord—a mage healed me, probably less than two blinks after they got the lion off me and I got away. I might feel the rain on windy nights or whatever in my old age, but right now it doesn't even feel as though the muscle is missing.”

“Lucky indeed.”

The barges were slowing, though the current continued along quickly enough. Dieck cocked his head to one side. “Since when did you take a vow of non-nosiness? Some people around here pry, and you push, but then clam up. Not that I'm objecting strongly, but you get that expression like you'd want to know more, and then never ask.”

“Mm?” Rutger drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword. “You don't want to talk about it, it's not my business. If you do, where do I start? Should I be asking why, if you were supposed to be a pit fighter, and supposed to be fighting those lions, people saved you? Or why you seem to have rolled into better healing services than any but the nobility here could afford? Or that lordly name you nearly dropped? Or the whole question of what you were doing in an arena in the first place?”

“You needn't talk about arenas as though it's a dirty word.”

“I find fighting without the serious intent to win and kill the opponent to be useless. Arenas encourage silly people who think that a little showmanship will improve them to the point where they don't need to worry about taking their own lives into their hands when they take to a battlefield. You have a sword. Fine. Use it, or keep it sheathed. As for the audience—I'll pass. It's morbid; wanting to see friends and strangers alike suffer and die for entertainment.”

“Broadly, I guess it is,” Questions welled behind Dieck's measured tone.

An old woman had once told Rutger that every word spoken revealed more about the speaker than it did the person who was being spoken to. Maybe Dieck was also holding back on his curiosity just as tentatively. He could keep what knowledge he had already wrung from Rutger and be grateful for it. Still, Dieck smiled, and stared at the water rushing behind them. “The audience can be like crows circling a slaughter. I'm not so sure you're wholly right on the win or die thing. Though it looks as though I've been luckier than I thought, winning against you—or maybe you've been the lucky one, since I don't play for your stakes. But you're probably spot on, about the audience bit. It's a great feeling, being noticed and adored and so good that no one can kill you, but I guess it is a little fucked up that they loved watching me all cut up and half dead as much as they liked me winning.”

That sounded suspiciously like a jab about what they liked to do together. Rutger frowned a little. However, he did not want to see Dieck half dead. Did that matter? Maybe it wasn't enough of a difference.

Dieck sighed. “It was long ago, and I was pretty young and stupid. And pit fighting in Etruria isn't quite like arena bouts. You can get good money, if you grow famous enough to attract a wealthy patron to the pit. But it's often battles to the death, and if there aren't enough voluntary fighters they'll use animals like lions, or prisoners hoping to escape their sentences. That was always rough, not knowing if you were facing a child killer or some bread thief, and if it was a bandit they probably had years of experience over you, and no matter what, being bonded to an arena pit is hell, so they're going to do their best to kill you and get enough money to buy themselves free. Approve a little more now?”

“Of arenas? No. Of what you were doing? We all do things when we're young and stupid. You chose getting mauled by lions. I chose getting foolishly mopey over someone from a tribe I could never belong to as a soft city dweller with barely any Plains' blood. We all should be allowed to be young and idiotic.”

The look Dieck gave him was thoughtful. Rutger guessed that he was trying to imagine the life of a mopey young Sacaen. But contemplations that probably involved trying to imagine Rutger a a properly blooded son of the plains gave way to an easy shrug and a joking laugh as Dieck found the task impossible. “Hey, in my defense, I was trying to save a child.”

“Well, there you go. Your young and foolish phase involved doing the right thing. Did you save her?”

“Him, and yeah. Though his father would probably have done just as well, with fewer lion scratches.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He used to have that General Cecilia's job. One fireball, and the lion would have been toast. But he patched me up and took on my bond from my former lord. I served him as loyally as I knew how, and looked after his son. That probably was a bit of a mistake. You know, a pit fighter with a thirst for glory and distressing personal habits looking after the young heir of a powerful family is just the kind of thing the Etrurian aristocracy loves, right? After a while, the best thing I could do was pay Lord Pent back for my bond and go on to be a mercenary.”

Rugter wasn't certain he followed Dieck's words. It sounded as though the aristocracy of Etruria had somehow managed to find an objection the life debt that would have bonded Dieck permanently to this family if they had had lived by the codes of Sacae. The very idea was bizarre. If someone from outside a town, or tribe had thrown themselves into such an act of bravery for someone they had no reason to care about, such good will had to be acknowledged and reciprocated at the very least, no matter who had done such a thing. Even a mongrel like Rutger would have received a permanent free pass in tribe territory, if nothing else, had he be involved in such an incident.

They stood together in silence for some time. The barges rocked gently, and then finally jerked to a stop. Lugh and Chad, with Thany in hot pursuit, leaped over the low stern from the bow of the barge behind them, and raced over the deck, laughing insults.

Rutger broke the silence at last. “So, Etruria isn't home for you then?”

“No. Not really. It was nice to belong to a high noble household for a while, but that's gone now. What, do you have the famous Sacaen homesickness, and get surprised when you meet people less attached to the land than you?”

“A little,” Rutger admitted quietly, staring at the water. “But I'm never surprised by other people any more.”

“Well, maybe Aquelia will surprise you. We're only a day away now,” Dieck slung a familiar arm around Rutger's shoulder. “And it's a gorgeous city, all light and water and stars. Oh, and good food, if we're allowed to stop and sock up before heading to the docks.”

“You would think of food,” Rutger could hear the shouts and calls for supper on the galley barge.

Dieck ruffled his hair good-naturedly as he began to steer Rutger toward the bow. “Here's one you'd like then: sword smiths as far as the eye can see all in one street. They sell everything in Aquelia. Also, some of the best brothels in the world, though I doubt we'll be even seeing the outside of those. But if you ever get the hankering for some slim young natural Etrurian blond, that is where to go.”

“I've got a thick old Etrurian moss head who's suiting me just fine, thanks,” Rutger told Dieck dryly, reaching around to pinch him.

Dieck returned the affection by threatening to push him over the side of the next barge, but he did not deny the assertion. That thought kept Rutger feeling light and almost effervescent through out dinner, despite a rather pointed lecture from Marcus to the army to keep all attempts at weapons practice confined to the barges the crew had designated for weapons practice, and not going off into dark corners for their physical exertions. Several heads hung guiltily at this lecture, though, making Rutger suspect that some of the younger warriors had been nuisances to the crew today. Still, the delicacy of the words made him amused.

There was some discussion of other business, and once it was over, Roy got up to say that they would be docking in Aquelia the next afternoon, and stowing their gear on the _Saint's Star_ immediately, though the ship would depart with the morning tide. Rutger made plans to see about the fabled street of sword smiths. He couldn't get anything commissioned, but there would certainly be finished pieces on display, and he might be lucky and a Sacaen weapons smith had traveled to the stronghold of Elimine.

Even if his hopes proved fruitless, though, they were almost to the sea, and the Western Isles. The faster they finished there, the more swiftly they could return to the real war, and destroying Bern.


	6. In Fibernia under Orders from Etruria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rutger probably shouldn't have showed off without doing an accurate count of the enemies. The army is growing, and he knows he can't pretend that he is really Sacaen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the non-explicit version of this chapter please check out [fanfiction.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10254760/6/Not-Exactly-a-Secret).

Ghostly shapes swirled through the mist at every turn. Behind Rutger, Noah's horse blew out a great steaming breath, and stamped nervously.

“Fir, are you sure there was another Sacaen out here?” Lady Sue asked quietly, her murmur almost as quiet as the river rushing under the bridge behind them.

“Yes. He said the rest of his tribe was gone, and he had a mission to find his leader's granddaughter,” Fir repeated, turning warily, her sword at the ready. “But he needs money to continue traveling. Do you really want to help him? He would probably have to leave as soon as he can find passage to the south.”

“I will aid any with the blood of the Kutolah in their veins,” Sue replied, sounding a little grim to Rutger's ears. Her hand darted for her quiver. “All of you, get back!”

The wall of mist exploded. Rutger had been listening for the familiar drumming hoof beats of a Plains pony, but even he was taken by surprise, as a nomad thundered upon them. He rolled to the side, and leaped for shattered rocky ground the pony would balk at. Hooves slammed into the spot on the trail where he had stood. The rider whipped out an arrow, even as the tough mount pivoted, kicking out at Fir, who was scrambling out of the way.

The arrow struck Noah's plate armor, and clattered away. Sue's own cool shot wiffled past the young man's nose. Under his bandana, his eyes widened, probably tracking on the fletching of the arrow as it went past.

“Lady Sue!”

Sue kicked her horse into a canter to draw up along side him. “Shin,” she took his arm, turning away slightly from the supposed guards reassembling on the trail. Rutger found himself drinking in the appearance of the new man. The attack had felt like so many attacks back on the plains, thrilling and beautiful in its speed.

Fir sidled up to Rutger, interrupting his admiration. “Wait, Sue? Sue is the granddaughter Shin was talking about?”

“Didn't you see her colors?” Rutger reassessed the young girl before him.

She had the look of a Plains child, and, like him, was without a tribe's banding, so she must have grown up in Bulgar or another stable trade town where all tribes mingled with foreigners. How did she not know what the gold and black at Lady Sue's throat meant? Or the bright gold outlines flashing from Shin's darker bands? All people of Sacae knew how to read those weavings.

Or not, as Fir just blinked at him owlishly. “Huh?”

Rutger felt some choice words bubbling up, just staring at this girl who had the physical claim to the plains he had always wanted, and no idea what it meant to be from Sacae. After a moment of struggle, he managed to find something civil to say. “Black and gold: all Kutolah wear one or the other in the triangle borders of their clothing. Usually both.”

The girl looked thoughtful after that, and then smiled shyly. “Thanks for telling me. I never really thought about it, I guess. Huh. Mother and Uncle never wore anything like that. I suppose they weren't Kutolah. How did you know—”

Rutger turned away, and slipped into the mist, feeling too stung to say anything more to the girl. He was being foolish, but. But. No one would ever question her right to being Sacaen. Or be surprised when she said her family came from the Plains. And she knew nothing about any of it.

Voices mumbled things all around him for a few moments, Noah's low voice deep enough to cut through the muffling fog, saying: “Rutger is just a little strange. Don't worry about him, he's reliable in battle. Sue, should we wait for General Roy here, or head back? We're pretty cut off from the rest of the forces on the island in this mist.”

More mumbling, and Rutger slipped off the trail to head to the river bank. He breathed deeply, letting all sounds fade into the wet murmur of the water, and the unrelenting fog. They had cleared the bandits on the island, and at the beginning of the bridge. Shin would surely know if more were coming behind him.

Something splashed in the water, and Rutger peered ahead, hoping to see a fish. If he was fast they might have something to cook when night fell, if they were still out in this sludge—more splashing. Like footsteps. But even Chad wouldn't be foolhardy enough to try to wade through the deceptive currents that had carved their way through the islands. Out in the mist, a bulky shape loomed, and Rutger caught the familiar outline of an axe. Damnit. More pirates, trying to sneak up on the army unawares.

He scrambled up the bank, and ran toward the warm sounds of horses. “Noah, Lady Sue, more pirates behind us. They might be trying to cut us off from the army, or attack the army directly.”

Noah swore quietly, causing Fir to giggle, and Shin to smother a grin. Lady Sue blanched for a moment, and then sat straighter in her saddle. It was hard to believe that she was probably the same age as the giggling Fir. “All right. Roy heard that some villagers past this bridge were trying to escape before the bandits overwhelmed the area. Rutger, Shin and I will hold the bridges for the villagers. Fir, you and Noah go and aid the army. They'll need your swords, and the three of us can slip away unharmed if a huge force of bandits appears to overwhelm us.”

Shin frowned, looking as though he wanted to object, but Noah saluted quickly. “And you'll get away into the mist more easily without a great clanking cavalier like me. Alright, Fir, my horse is faster than you, so I'll lead the way, but don't let me get too far ahead of you.”

Rutger couldn't help but think that it was unlikely to happen over the short distance back to the island and the main force of the army. Still, perhaps the mercenary was trying to be gallant to the little civilian or something of the like.

Shin turned to Sue as the two trotted into the swirling mist. “You do no have enough people to guard you if this gets rough, Lady. You should go with them, along with this swordsman, and send back troops to join me in guarding these bridges.”

Even this exchange triggered another rush of memories of home, but this time Rutger was fighting back the urge to snicker. It wasn't fair to Shin, since protecting Lady Sue was certainly the only thing he had left in the world right now. However, the determination of Sacaen tribesmen to protect women from command decisions, particularly after they had been made, always caused an undercurrent of sly amusement in the trade quarter of the city where Ilians and Bernians mixed freely. Underhanded as it was, Rutger almost wanted to place a bet on how long Shin's attitude would last. Meeting little Clarine after this battle was done was probably going to crumble that Kutolah sense of rightness in the world like damp bread.

Lady Sue handled the whole thing much more kindly than Clarine. “Shin, I am well guarded with you at my side again. Do not worry. Now, we will take the bridge. Rutger, could you hide in that thicket over there and warn us, if you see anyone coming?”

Rutger nodded. “Will a shrike's scream be enough of a warning?”

“If you can manage the sound. That's what our hunters use,” Sue melted slightly from head of the brigade to girl of the plains for a moment.

“I remember.” From a raid on his first season of caravan escort, but what use was bringing up the past?

Over her shoulder Shin stared at Rutger, who nodded, and slipped off to the shadowed pines.

“How have you come to be traveling with Bernians, Lady Sue?”

Rutger almost whirled around, but Sue took care of the statement with a commanding iciness. “He's from Bulgar, Shin, and no more Bernian than you are.”

“But—just look at him.”

“Shin. _Everyone_ is dead,” Sue's voice rose, before she heard how loud the sound was in the mist, and brought her words under control. “Our mothers, our brothers and sisters. If you are here, our fathers are _gone_.  The curses of our enemies have drained the blood of the Kutolah, and rained it upon Mother Earth. I know grandfather has said it before, and I say it now, the people of the Plains survive through the ways we practice more than the blood we bear. That is how we will rebui—”

Her voice drifted off, hidden by the curtains of mist. Rutger was glad. She made him feel embarrassed and ill at ease inside his skin. He had the uncharitable thought that she might not have defended his appearance to Shin if more of her tribe had survived. People only really changed their opinions out of necessity, after all.

On the other hand, she had been quick to accept him as Sacaen on the battlements in Araphen, despite his appearance and lack of a proper tribe. He was probably taking—a shadow drifted among the trees where Rutger lay in wait. He slid closer, seeing the lurking object as a man carrying one of those ridiculously heavy lancereaving swords. Perfect.

Rutger struck from the tree shadows, his blade a flash in the mist slicing through the air like light to meet the enemy's throat in a single breath. The bandit screamed once, a thin gasping sound that trailed into wet gulping and had diminished by the time he hit the forest floor. Rutger yanked his sword from the neck, hearing the metal scrape against bone and cartilage. He had been swift, but the scream had brought other shapes slinking through the trees. Two to the north, one to the south. He could not kill them all in a timely manner.

Let the proper Kutolah hunter take the leavings, then. Rutger tracked north, sliding between his chosen enemies. As they drew level through the trees, he tried his best to imitate the butcher bird's scream, and fell upon the northernmost one, who had a sword too heavy to bring up in time. Rutger slashed at the head, pulling his body around and unleashing a sweeping crescent at the back of the man's knees. The mist choked foe buckled, screaming.

Rutger's rush of victory was cut short as a vicious slash reached for his stomach. He darted back, dodging into the shadow of a tree trunk, and the second bandit prowled after him. Two swift strokes chased Rutger around the damp bole, keeping him on the defensive. A third one caused the bandit dealing them to reach too high. Rutger lunged forward, carrying the speed into the hollow of the bandit's armpit. He pushed on through, feeling the jarring thickness of bone slowing the perfect curve, but his new sword held firm.

As his opponent slumped forward, blade slipping from his grasp, something cold tore up Rutger's thigh, turning to blazing fire as it skittered over his hip, and slid across his lower back. Pain slammed into him a moment before a body descended with it, shoving the sword in, even as arrows grew from its back. Rutger staggered, understanding that there was a dead man on top of him, a sword had buried itself within him, somewhere, and somehow he hadn't counted his enemies properly.

Blood pounded in his ears, as he fell against the tree that had been his cover only a moment ago. Or was it the pounding of hoof beats? Feebly, he tried to turn, meeting nothing but white hot flares of pain. He had to do something, anything to dislodge the dead man on his back.

A spinning moment later, he blinked. The dry orange of pine needles covered the forest floor a hand's span from his face. From the corner of his eye, bronze bright hooves stamped delicately on that earth. The noise seemed to echo from somewhere very far off, with high voices mingling with the chiming hooves. Sound came through the massive weight weighing him down. Slowly the weight lifted. Relieved, Rutger closed his eyes.

* * *

Time must have passed. It was the only explanation for why his view had changed from forest floor to undyed canvas. Rutger grabbed for his sword. But it wasn't on the floor next to his cot. It wasn't under his pillow. Where—

“Hey,” Brother Saul bustled into his field of vision, “I'm glad to see that you're awake, but take it a bit easy.”

“What?” to his dismay, Rutger's mouth felt clothy and his tongue skidded over the word. He pushed himself upright, feeling the itchy wool blanket fall from his back. The cover had been loose enough before he sat up, but without it, the air was freezing cold. Peering around, he could see that it was fully raining outside of the makeshift healing tent. He turned to Saul, crossing his arms over his bare chest and trying to curl around any remaining heat. “What happened?”

“You all at the bridges were ambushed from the castle. The lovely Lady Sue and her, uh, friend held them off, until reinforcements arrived. Then that cute little pegasus knight brought you to me. I got all your organs back together, and skin pretty well healed. It's going to be a little sore along the wound until the magic has finished repairing you, so don't go off doing back flips or any of those showy sword moves unless you want to start bleeding all over the place again. Anyway, at that point, your body must have just said 'sleep' because we couldn't wake you up. The army is besieging the castle now. As the healer in change, I get to say you should just go back to sleep.”

“Where is my sword?”

“No, suh-leep,” Saul moved to the right, as though trying to hide that part of the tent from Rutger's vision.

Rutger gave up talking, and rose from the cot. His left leg complained bitterly, and looking down, he saw a bright pink line rising along his thigh, and then disappearing around his back. Right. Ignoring Saul's protests, he pushed around the healer to find a pile of cloth that might have once been red, and his sword laid next to it. He touched the hilt, feeling calmer, and ready to assess the damage. Beyond the mud and blood caking the cloth, there was an unpleasantly tattery look to his clothing.

His belt was a slashed and ripped mess. He tossed that from the pile. The blood red surcoat had fared better. The cloth must have ridden along his enemy's sword, leaving the awkward slash smaller than the wound inflicted. Rutger could repair the damage. His trousers were ripped up one side, but the cut was basically just one long line, and even easier to repair than the short crescent in the coat. And his shirt—his shirt was a bit more damaged. The cloth of his shirt had caught and bunched in several places, leaving multiple holes to repair, rather than singular lines. It probably meant that the gash on his back had been uneven in its depths. For all he knew, the tough cloth had kept his spine from being harmed.

One of the holes in his shirt was stiffer with blood matting to the fiber than the leather of his scabbard. Good thing the cloth was dark, or the stain would always be there. Good thing he had been wearing dark, durable clothing when Bern attacked. Everything else was ash.

Okay, so, once he washed out the dirt and blood, he could fix almost everything. Where he was going to find a new belt, or how much it was going to cost was another question, but the damage wasn't as bad as he had feared. That was a relief. Rutger slowly moved back to the cot, taking the blanket to wrap around his hips at Saul's tactful suggestion.

Although tactful was probably not the right word when the priest held up the blanket while squeezing his eyes shut and muttering “Seriously, not everyone wants to see your man junk.”

That must be the civilian part of Saul talking, Rutger decided. “You saw a good deal more while healing me.”

“That's different,” copying Rutger, Saul sat on the free cot opposite next to the dirty clothes. “That's blood and getting the job done. I can't even see women when that happens. It's as though the sweet Saint is standing over my shoulder saying: 'This is a body. You're all that stands between it being a living breathing person and it being a cadaver. Get to making it right.' Seeing who's underneath everything after, that should be a perk, and not a punishment. You understand, right?”

It was an interesting perspective for a pervert. Particularly one, who, if Rutger had understood an overheard conversation with Dorothy, had entertained all kinds of lovers, but Rutger was pretty sure that he understood what Saul was getting at. Mountain sharp looks like his were not any more valued by the average Etrurian than they were on the Plains. He turned his head to the canvas wall to hide a wry grin. “I'll need clothes while I repair mine.”

“That's Merlinus' department. If you didn't have a spare set of clothing, I'm sure he could sell you something.”

On the whole, Rutger thought of himself as a very bad mercenary. His focus in life never really encompassed the money. It had been important to bring money home to his family, and now he needed money to survive to the apex of his revenge, but accumulating wealth through killing had never been part of the way he thought of himself. However, the idea of dealing with Merlinus for clothing made him suddenly feel as though gold was flowing out of his pockets in unforeseen amounts. “I thought Elimineans believed in charity.”

Saul looked a little guilty. Then something almost like consideration passed over his face. “Hey, stand up for a moment.”

Gripping the blanket, Rutger hopped from the cot again. As Saul surveyed him, he took a bit of grim enjoyment in very carefully and obviously re-wrapping and securing the blanket. As expected, Saul noticed and eventually gagged theatrically.

“All right, all right, your point is made.”

“Have you never entered a public changing room before?” Rutger wanted to know, rather interested despite himself. He had assumed Elimineans lived about as communally as tribesmen. Saul was acting like some blushing prude. No wonder he had that trouble with his former lover.

“Not without worrying about getting beaten up, no,” Saul shrugged. “I remember passing my novitiate, and being told that I was to be posted outside the monastery, and it was suddenly as though the world had changed. No longer was I confined to stone walls with odious boys who hated the exercise as much as I did—I was free to go out into the world with all of it's virtues and good food and women,” he trailed off, looking a little misty eyed.

Rutger did not think that was much of a religious experience. However, he was not one to talk on that matter, and after a moment he coughed. “Have I stood up for long enough for you?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry. You're abut my size, so if you want, I can lend you my extra robe. I keep it in the field tent in case I have to do surgery or something else bloody. Thanks for not coming in with anything we had to dig out of you before healing, by the way. I hate that bit.”

“I'll try to avoid it in the future,” Rutger murmured, lying back down on the cot. He was not sure that he liked the thought of walking around in Saul's extra priestly robe. “How close are we to victory, anyway?”

He listened to the creak of wood joists, and the sound of Saul's shoes heading to the entrance of the tent. Combined with the patter of rain, it felt all rather relaxing, despite the coldness in the air, and the slow sore ache from his back that pushed at the edges of his consciousness. Maybe it was the clean smell of the tent, or perhaps the lack of shouting and action. Or maybe peace had simply descended here to muffle all of his senses for a few moments.

“I can't see any action around the castle from here. And I usually can see the roof of Merlinus' cart—oh, there it is! They're besieging the gate, I think. Merlinus' cart is off in a thicket of trees—they may have found some weakness in the walls that they're trying to exploit.”

Rutger nodded to himself. This would be the dreariest part of the campaign. Castle storming always was. The reinforcements would be decimated, and now whoever held the castle was probably considering whether to hole up, and wait out a prolonged siege, or to fight. Probably fight if they were smart. The land around here was too barren to produce many supplies, and Rutger suspected the fresh water source came from outside the castle. Everything about the enemies so far had spoken of bandits, with enough supplies on hand to survive a few days, but none of the experience to stock up for the weeks of a prolonged siege.

He could, in fact, take the healer's advice, and fall asleep, until it was time to move to a permanent camp, or enter the castle itself. He rolled onto his side, and tried to follow the strong suggestion. Nothing happened. For a while he was just staring at canvas, noting smoke stains from the lanterns and braziers of a hundred night campaigns. Then the soreness of his recent healing grew tired of poking at the back of his awareness, and became an all consuming presence, brooding on his back and sinking in its teeth until he could concentrate on nothing else.

And somewhere far off was the smokey thickness of burned flesh, and he could feel the hands holding him back, and the slackness in his body as cowardice overwhelmed him and he stopped fighting.

A warm hand touched his cold shoulder, starting him awake. He rolled from the cot, lunging for his sword before he was fully aware of Sir Treck's plain and worried face, Saul hovering in alarm just behind him. Rutger forced himself to relax, letting the calming leathery weight of his sword hilt ground him in reality. “What's going on?”

“Ah. We won a little before sunset. Sir Treck was going to help me pack up the tent,” Saul began, his face white. Whiter than his robe, which bore blood spatters now. “Little Thany ended up here with a javelin through her shoulder a little after you went quiet, but, um, I got rid of the lance and healed her up, and she's helping to pack up outside, now.”

Rutger regarded him levelly. Saul was the kind of man to whom smiles came naturally. Even when he had been complaining about Rutger's body, there was the light of humor in his eyes, and Rutger still suspected it was half a joke. The priest did not look as though he was seeing anything funny right now. Perhaps it had been the sword, or perhaps Rutger had done something worse in his sleep.

“Did I—say anything?”

“What? No,” Saul began, looking very unconvincingly chipper. The way he moved his hands vaguely to finish the statement was not any more reassuring. “Not really. As such.”

Treck's honesty was more reliable. “You were shaking pretty badly. That's not good, you know. Though healing can do that if the wounds got too close to the head or spine or other important bits. So I suppose that's okay. But you're not feeling well, are you?”

“I'm fine. Are we moving into the castle, or setting up tents in the mud?”

“The castle,” Saul confirmed. “Uh. Here's my spare robe, by the way,” he held out a bundle of cloth white enough to have made Rutger a good handful of gold, if he had sold it. The Elimineans must have some secret to bleaching that no one had discovered.

He took the clothing reluctantly, but it was quite cold in the tent, and it would be a colder walk, probably in the dark, to the castle. He put it on, all too aware that the hem and sleeves were too short, and the whole garment itself was too roomy, designed for men who did not worry about getting fouled by too much cloth in the middle of battle. He sighed, and went to help put away the tent, seeing Treck was already making off with his regular clothing.

That was how he came to be dressed in a priest's robes and undoing tent pegs when Dieck arrived with Lott to help Thany. He heard the two before he saw them, deep rumbling voices that could have been saying anything in the rain.

He did not really think that it might be Dieck until Thany bounced up with an eager “Captain! See? I'm perfectly all right. And that javelin wasn't my fault for getting too far ahead, either!”

Dieck mumbled something disapproving from the lowness of the words, and Lott obviously concurred. Thany, however, was having none of it. “It was my job. I volunteered! Sir Zealot was there to rescue me, so I was perfectly safe. And I did a far better job of being decoy than that stone faced nomad would have done. Oh! I'm sorry Master Rutger! I don't mean you! Of course not. Sue's friend is just so unfriendly like you are. Were! I mean were!”

“He's probably just not used to so much yelling,” Lott muttered, coming closer, to finish rolling the canvas Thany had left on the ground.

Dieck, however, stopped beside Thany, peering through the rain and looming sunset. “Wait. Is that Rutger?”

The laughter began before Rutger could even close his eyes in resignation. As soon as he got into the castle, he was going to find the nearest laundry, wash his clothes, and wander around stark naked until he could find the thread to mend them. Saul had meant well, but Rutger looked like a jester in the clerical robe.

Dieck stopped long enough for a sobbing breath, and Rutger walked over to the mercenary, his sword relaxed in his grasp. “One more sound out of you, and wounded or not, I will force you to defend yourself.”

In the rain, it was hard to read the exact expression in Dieck's eyes, but he grinned at Rutger. “Oh, come on. Give me this. I was just having a terrible conversation after discovering my little knight had been shot out of the sky on a fool's errand against that idiot bandit, and Lady Sue had told me a certain sword wielding maniac tried to get all of his vitals tied in a knot around an enemy's sword. I needed a laugh, and here's the drowned alley cat of a lion all done up in sainted white to give it to me.”

It was possible that Dieck's day had gone as poorly as Rutger's, though he had probably not needed anything more than a supplementary healing on the field. Dieck was responsible for three other people, besides himself, one of whom had ended up in the longer term care of the healing tent because of the day's battle. Rutger still wanted to brandish the blade under his nose, but that was foolish dramatics at best.

Instead, he turned away. “Get the center pole down will you?”

All six of them packed up the tent without too many more chuckles, though out of the corner of his eye Rutger did catch Dieck elbowing Saul conspiratorially. He pretended not to have seen it, just as Saul rather generously pretended not to see the way Dieck's hand kept straying lower than Rutger's hip as they all walked back together, toting various burdens.

By the time they reached the castle, Rutger would have bet that Brother Saul wanted him out of the spare robe as much as Rutger did. The castle itself, while it had looked good from the outside, proved to be damp and gloomy. One look at the web and mouse dropping infested washroom told Rutger that washing his clothes would have to be a job that he left for the morning when he was feeling more lively and other members of the army were willing to clean out the huge wooden washing tubs with him.

“You'll be wanting to keep that robe through dinner, won't you,” Saul said with horrified resignation over his shoulder. Though whether it was the thought of Dieck manhandling Rutger through out dinner while Rutger was wearing his clothes, or the sight of the washroom that distressed him, Rutger could not tell.

He gave the priest the benefit of the doubt, however. “I could just strip this off here, and go back to the blanket solution.”

“No!” Saul looked practically green. “You should do that. But in front of a fire, for the love of stars. You're soaked through and just had bucket loads of magic channeled through your body. You need to warm up, first, and not in front of me. Er. Not in this dank corridor—Here, why don't I take Miss Thany to get dried off, and get you both some soup, and you go find a blanket somewhere warm?”

Dieck, who had been eying Rutger with a tense, coiled glee at the mention of warming up, suddenly looked stoney.

As though some unspoken command rang through the hall, Lott stepped up, casually moving his arms as though he was unintentionally letting everyone know how big his biceps were. “What a good idea, Brother. I'll help Thany find a room to change in. I think I saw Lady Lilina that way, and she won't mind sharing the space. You get everyone soup.”

Rutger watched the extremely unsubtle maneuver end with Saul practically racing off toward the probable kitchens. Dieck had the look of a fox who had jut gotten away with a good sized hen. Glancing at Rutger the smug smile shrank a fraction. “You're shivering.”

“And you aren't?” Rutger eyed the broad damp chest with a hint of envy. “This pile of rocks is cold.”

“Well, you didn't expect bandits to have a nice base camp, did you? They probably took over this place half a generation after the lords died out in a blood feud,” Dieck sauntered down the hallway in the same direction Saul had fled. His progress, though was more measured, and he peered into doorways, waving his torch inside vaguely. After the third room, he was frowning. “Y'know, I was all for not being stuffed into a barracks, but this place is a real pile. I wonder if any of these rooms have fireplaces.”

“The way this is going, they would just let in the rain.”

“Too true. Maybe that Fir girl might know something. She was staying here, wasn't she?”

“I think she was just passing through,” Rutger felt a chill ripple over his skin, and began undoing the clasp at his throat as they walked. Maybe wandering around naked wasn't the ideal solution, but he could at least get his arms out of the too tight clinging sleeves. “Shin had been part of the paid forces. He must have been put up somewhere in this place. Of course, getting that information out of him will be difficult.”

“What, no secret Sacaen signs from you will get him to speak?” Dieck's voice lilted with amusement.

Rutger scowled, carefully looking ahead, where the passage way seemed to open out, given the light streaming from the end of the passageway. “I have too much of Bern in my face and blood to be trusted.”

For a while, only their footsteps sounded in the corridor. Dieck tried clearing his throat. “Sue doesn't give you the silent treatment.”

“I have fought beside Lady Sue for long enough that she can forget what I am. Besides, that was when I was the only person who might know the smell of grass. Fir and Shin will make better companions for her.”

“Huh?” They had entered a common room, where General Roy was bent over a table, studying a sketch of the isles with currents marked out in blue. He looked up as they entered. “Captain Dieck, you're alive. And Master Rutger. You're both soaking. Have a spot by the fire. Sir Marcus was just getting it going. I think we might as well call our morning meeting here, Marcus. I doubt even twenty of you and Merlinus scouring that great room could make it a fit mess hall, and everyone else has been in and out of here already.”

The young general's attention was back on the maps. Rutger shook his head as he sidled closer to the roaring hearth. Clarine could be single minded in her childish way, but the concentration that Roy dedicated to maps and plans and moving armies suggested there was a child somewhere in that body going to waste while an older soul looked out of those blue eyes. It was a wonder that he was able to joke with his knights. Even the elegant Princess of Bern had seemed to have more interests than just winning the war.

Dieck prowled toward Roy. The tension in his scarred muscles drew Rutger's eye far faster than the quiet rumble of his voice. “Yeah. We're alive. Can you have Merlinus bring up Rutger and Thany's kits from his wagon as soon as possible?”

“Oh, sure. Marcus, could you?” Roy scribbled something down in the margin of his map waiving his faithful knight in the direction of a passage. “Thany did really well out there, today, by—”

“Yeah. I saw. She's hired out to be your knight, right? You don't need my authorization to send her on risky missions.”

Rutger wasn't quite sure what was happening. The conversation, such as it was, felt as though it should have been an easy discussion of the battle. Somehow, though, with Dieck looming over the desk, and the shadows turning his scars into running stripes, a darker, more unpleasant conversation was brewing.

Roy seemed to be sensing it, too. He put down the hard quill that he had been using to make his notes, and leaned both hands on the desk. “Yes. That is part of our contract. In battle, I'm the ultimate authority when it comes to tactics. Why are you bringing this up?”

“I'm bringing it up because she got so feathered that she had to drop back to the permanent healers. Just wanted to check that you weren't sending my troops on vainglorious charges,” Dieck's smile held no humor.

Roy's eyebrows drew together in worry. “We had to draw out Scott's lancemen to take the south wall. They wouldn't show themselves while the axemen were there, and Fir and Noah would have been slaughtered to go in with swords. If it had been Rutger, I might have chanced it. He has the experience and the combat style they lack, but he fell in the woods, and Sue didn't think he would make it. You were facing Scott directly with only Shin to back you on the gate. We had to force him to split his attention somehow, and the south wall was the safest way.

“Thany and Sir Zealot planned the decoy together, and both Wolt and Dorothy took the forces down in a matter of moments. I don't risk more troops than necessary,” the boy's face had gone pinched and white. “I am sorry about the injury, but a stray javelin wound is better than losing Sir Noah and Fir, and I got the impression from Shin's report, it saved you ending up in the healer's tent with Rutger.”

Dieck snorted ruefully, the shadows slinking sullenly into the background. “I can take care of myself if it comes to it, General. Thany, Lott, and Ward, well, we're a unit, and you had us split among your party according to what you thought right. It's not how I'm used to dealing with 'em, even if they might work pretty well in a different setting. It's hard to take care of them when they're all over the place, willy-nilly. That's all.”

“Are my tactics—what would you change, Captain?”

“Keeping Thany with a unit who has to be grounded, for a start. She young and reckless, and you can use that, but keep in mind it's her weakness. As for Ward and Lott, they can afford to be split up more often, and act as scouts. They know the Isles, and frankly, the terrain's as much an enemy as the bandits now. You're off home territory.”

Rutger steamed gently next to the fire, taking in the changes to Dieck's demeanor as he acted his part. It must have been all part of a normal battle accounting, though, as Roy took it all in without blinking, and then asked Rutger for his version of events.

Rutger was explaining that he had miscounted the enemy when Fir and Saul arrived with Merlinus and hot apples with some sort of dumpling in tow. If Saul was paying more attention to Fir than he was to the food, at least he wasn't trying to convince her that Elimine's grace lay in one-on-one conversation and talk of spiritual love. Rutger would never understand him, but his single mindedness was more amusing than Roy's.

However, despite the prospect of food, as soon as Rutger saw Merlinus, he grabbed his kit, and wandered off to change from the uncomfortable robes to a blanket around his waist that had served him so well in the healing tent. As he came back, following the smell of apple, he noticed Dieck glide behind him.

“I guess we match now,” Rutger pointed out dryly.

“Mm,” Dieck slid his hand gently around one clammy wrist. “You still need warming up. C'mon. For day old dumplings and roast apples, it's not that bad.”

Dieck's unoccupied hand had other thoughts in mind, trailing along Rutger's back with lazy possessiveness. Rutger winced as it found the top of the welted scar on his right side. “Careful.”

“Still hurts, huh. Well, it shouldn't leave too much of a mark,” Dieck grinned. “Though I could change that for you.”

“No.”

As soon as Rutger delivered the folded robe back to Saul with a nod, they settled in the shadows at the edge of the firelight. The rest of the group were already passing around food, and laughing, as Thany, who had joined while Rutger changed, mimed falling from a great height or something equally morbid. The jar filled with the apples and dumplings made its way around. Rutger helped himself, eating hungrily, and then sucking the gravy from his fingers.

He could help but notice Dieck's arm still circling him, the calloused hand spreading warmth over Rutger's side. Why was it always like that? Dieck pressing casual affection with a touch. It was very enjoyable, but why didn't Rutger decide to do anything similar? Though he wasn't sure that he would be able to bring himself to be so outgoing with so little effort.

Other members of the army filtered in, and began to take their shares of the meal. Lugh was one of the first to ask about rooms, and Dieck spoke up that Thany and probably Rutger needed ones with a fire pit at the very least, if there was no official fireplace.

“Oh, the second floor of the keep has those,” Fir told everyone brightly. “There have to be probably seven rooms like that on the second floor? And a few on the ground floor, too, but most of the rooms with fireplaces down here are common areas, like this one.”

“What, did they give you a grand tour?” Chad scoffed. “Here's where we've stashed the villagers' loot, and here's where you's be staying.”

It was not easy to tell in the firelight, but Fir seemed to color a bit, and she certainly changed her posture from an informal slouch to an attentive stiffness that would have made Rutger's mother proud. “Well, they did show me around when I asked if there was anyone else who would match swords with me staying with them. I remembered the rooms of the good fighters, that's all.”

“And I'll be taking one,” Rutger said, standing up. His gaze swept around the common room, trying to find any resistance to the idea that the lone unranked mercenary should take a full room with a fireplace, but even Merlinus wasn't in the mood for snobbery tonight.

Roy nodded when Rutger met his eyes. “And Thany too. Everyone else—well, we'd better do a survey of the rooms and apportion them appropriately. The last people to come in from the rain should have first choice, and then oldest to youngest, does that sound fair?”

“No!” Lugh and Chad protested in unison, and then the arguing about precedence began.

Rutger picked up his kit, and the blanket-less roll of sheepskin he called a bed. On the way to the nearest set of stairs, he passed Saul, staring rather forlornly at the half dry bundle of robes. As Dorothy was in mid harangue behind him, Rutger decided not to make his day any worse, and merely nodded at the priest.

Once he reached the top of the stairs, the sound of boots behind him in a familiar rhythm made Rutger pause. Dieck, probably, though it could be Oujay as well. Both mercenaries had a similar lightness in their steps, particularly when unburdened. Rutger waited on the landing, taking advantage of the lack of torches. When he saw a lantern's glow, followed by Dieck's distinctive brush of hair, he grinned, and grabbed for the arm holding the light.

The arm jerked forward, pulling the light onto the landing, and bringing Dieck from the final step to the the second floor of the castle with a stumble that ended on one knee. Rutger smirked down at him, lifting the firm jaw almost gently. “You're looking tired.”

“You're looking like a right bastard,” Dieck replied honestly. “You knew it was me and not some bandit. And that was my shin. Ow.”

“I don't need you babying me all the way to my bedroom.”

“I was coming to ask if it could be our bedroom,” Dieck placed the lantern carefully on the wooden floor, and rubbed at his knee, trying to not so subtly look away despite Rutger's grip. “What is with this place being so cold and creepy.”

Now it was Rutger's turn to carefully examine a rotting tapestry on the wall doing its valiant best to keep out the draft. He was still exhausted. Healing worked hard on a body even a whole day afterward. He had been unconscious, and then there had been the beginnings of the nightmare in the tent. Was it safe to keep Dieck near by, if the nightmares were still haunting him?

“I thrash in my sleep.”

“Yeah, well, you don't have the reputation of someone with an easy conscience. Luckily for me, I sleep like a log.”

He already had the nightmare. Perhaps there wouldn't be a second one. Rutger sighed. “I'm a little tired to have fun. I don't think I could even really bite you properly, in spite of the shins.”

Now Dieck looked at him, the old assured smugness back on his face. “Oh, there's ways,” warm hands encompassed Rutger's fingers, sliding them lower around Dieck's throat. “And we can let that part slide if you want. You nearly lost your legs today, after all.”

Rutger felt the words vibrate through his hands, and marveled at the soft heartbeat under his thumbs. Dieck should not be offering up his breath like this. Not when Rutger was feeling tired and unsure of the ghosts following him, but the idea tingled deliciously along his skin. “My legs are fine. I don't think your head is. Did someone hit you very hard during the battle?”

“Only a little,” Dieck remained kneeling, his expression far too eager. Rutger tried to keep calm. He liked the expression, knowing that it was for him, and that even if they didn't sleep together Dieck still desired him.

Finally taking his hands from Dieck's throat, he slid his fingers into the man's hair, and yanked upwards. “Let's just see if we can find a room where the pallet isn't trying to walk off on its own.”

The first two rooms they tried did not have kindling to go with the fireplace, and the third had a pile of broken chairs to serve. But poking around demonstrated that the flue was unblocked, and the straw filled pallet, though dirty, was not home to any obvious creatures. The bed itself was actually a grand piece that might once have been part of some maiden's dowry. Rutger had become accustomed to the height and decoration of Lycian beds, supposedly less likely to make a home for animals underneath than Rutger would have thought, and on the Western Isles it appeared that the idea that height added security was the same.

Rutger fished in a dented wooden chest, and came up with a covering blanket, slightly mildewed at the corners, but no worse for wear. They could spread out their sleeping rolls on top of it, and use their own woolen blankets. As he began to deal with the awkwardness of the bed, light rose in the room. Dieck had managed to get one of the chair legs blazing merrily in the fireplace.

Rutger sat against the bed and watched, waiting for warmth to flicker over him. “That's some craftsman's hard work we're putting up in flames.”

“It's that, or the floorboards,” Dieck replied, rubbing his hands together. “The chair was broken up before we got here, anyway. I think they'd already burned the back. I'll take the storage chest next, if the embers go out in the night.”

“Still,” Rutger trailed off. Wood was not that expensive on these islands with pine forests clinging to the rocks. Though he did feel bad for the unknown craftsmaster who had just lost a piece that should have lived on past him.

Dieck rose from his crouch, shrugging. “I know what you mean. Seems a little wrong to burn a thing it would take three months wages to save up for, in normal circumstances.”

“Well, maybe the original owner won't mind,” Rutger shrugged, staring around the sad room with its flickering shadows. People had made lives in this place. The stone retained the memories.

He caught Dieck staring at him. “You don't believe in ghosts, do you?”

“Of course I do,” Rutger smirked, seeing the paleness on Dieck's face. “You're one of those people who believes in bodily immortality, and forgets spiritual immorality if he can?”

“Let's just say I don't see much point in hanging around this world if my body's not interested in being a good home,” Dieck muttered. He strode over to Rutger. “Speaking of, how's your body faring? You think you'll have a dashing scar?”

“If I do, it's not one many will see,” Rutger slowly unwrapped the folded blanket from around his waist, feeling his skin heat almost instantly, as Dieck's hands lighted on his sides.

“Shit, you're cold,” Dieck murmured, as he drew Rutger closer.

“I'm fine.”

“Maybe you had some sort of reptile in your family tree, then. Something to make you all cold and scaly,” Dieck's laugh buried itself against his neck, twining around his backbone just as the broad hands shifted along the diminishing welt of his earlier wound. “Stars above, this is long. Where did they start cutting you?”

“A little above the back of my knee,” Rutger allowed himself to be shifted closer to the fire, letting the hands continue inspection over his ass and along his left leg.

The fingers had begun impatient, but as they trailed over the back of his thigh, Rutger felt them shifting into nervous gentleness. Hunched around him, Dieck's laughter had trailed off, and a telltale tension was creeping through the muscles on his shoulders where Rutger's head rested.

What kind of question was 'where did they start cutting you,' anyway? It was a long slash, just like any other on the battlefield. He had been taken to the healer's and patched up, and by tomorrow he probably would only have a lingering pull on those muscles.

“Are you actually worried about me?” Rutger wanted to laugh, but the scorn hiding in his voice made his stomach twist queasily.

Dieck stilled entirely. For a while, they stood together in the firelight, the only movement a few hairs where Dieck's breath stirred them away from Rutger's neck. “A little. And unlike Thany, you know better than to take bad risks.”

He had been taking risks today, though, Rutger thought sourly. If he hadn't been so intent on showing Shin up, he would have double checked for another man hidden in the fog. Not that Dieck knew that. He reach up, lazily pushing Dieck away from his body until the uncertain hands were only lightly clasped at his waist. “I'm going to die with Bernian blood on my blade, or not at all.”

“Given our plans for the spring, that's not reassuring, you focused little death mill,” Dieck replied. “I've got to count on the power of hate keeping you alive until there's no one left to fight. And then what happens?”

“If I survive?” Rutger retorted, thinking that Dieck was prying into places he did not belong. But this was Dieck's way of worrying about Rutger, not questioning his goals. Perhaps Rutger could say something about that nebulous empty future. “Maybe I can go home.”

The words hung in the air, surprising Rutger with their longing. Dieck's expression was fond, almost wistful. He shook his head quietly, as he stared at Rutger up and down, one thumb rubbing a small circle above Rutger's hipbone.

“You don't like showing any bit of yourself, do you?” he murmured, rather incomprehensibly Rutger thought, for a man casting covetous glances all over Rutger's naked body. “Well, try to make sure that you go home in one piece.”

“I'll tell my enemies to be considerate of that.”

“Tell them I've already picked out the best parts for myself,” Dieck leaned in, laying a kiss on Rutger's forehead.

Rutger put up with the attention, as Dieck's lips trailed to his nose, his mouth, and then down his throat. When Dieck licked the hollow between his collar bones, Rutger threaded fingers through the hair on the back of Dieck's head, just holding onto the mercenary for now. He felt loose and easy, almost surprised that Dieck wasn't pushing with any of the normal urgency.

Tugging upward, he pulled Dieck into the kiss he'd wanted from the moment Dieck caught him in the rain and borrowed robes. The mouth and tongue that lay waiting for him did more to warm Rutger than the fire. Rutger felt sparks dance through his skin as he pressed in, taking everything his lover had to offer. Dieck responded in his own way, sliding around Rutger's contours to be as close as possible, his hands gripping Rutger's back as he rode out the ferocity, sweetening it with his eagerness.

Rutger yanked back Dieck's head for an instant, parting them, before moving in to bite Dieck's lower lip, wanting him to bleed as Rutger took over his mouth. Dieck trembled against him, pressing hard against his hip, pushing smooth leather against Rutger's own dick. Rutger hissed at the sensation. The material of Dieck's trousers felt fascinating, but he wanted heat and skin, and something that felt as good as battle.

Rutger's healing leg buckled under the onslaught he invited. He stumbled. Dieck grabbed him tight. Rutger coulf barely find his one working foot for a moment, but he managed to pulling Dieck back by the hair, giving Rutger room to breathe. Rutger used his free hand to shove the brawny shoulders down. Dieck stared at him with dark eyed lust clearing in his confusion.

Rutger grimaced. “Just a moment,” he leaned his weight on the shoulder, willing his left side to hold him once more.

Dieck chuckled in realization. “I'm getting an object lesson in seducing invalids now?”

“Quiet. As though I'm being seduced. I'm fine,” Rutger breathed heavily as the muscles suddenly spasmed into life again.

Looking at Dieck, he grinned, and pushed down. Dieck resisted for a moment, possibly thinking he was still being used as a crutch, but one look at Rutger's expression, and he folded to his knees, landing on the floor with a painful sounding thud.

“Now, clothing off.”

As Dieck undid the buckles on his shoulder armor, Rutger limped back to the bed, and sat on the edge, facing the mercenary. He tried to keep his expression from showing his excitement, and that became a battle of wills, as Dieck matched his gaze unashamedly. Slowly, Dieck's belt came undone, the ties of his trousers left dangling as Dieck pulled the brown pants low enough to reveal his cock. He smirked at Rutger, delaying full removal of his trousers and boots to run his fingers all over his own shaft. Rutger watched as Dieck shifted his hand into the shadows, possibly playing with his balls, possibly teasing himself, until his cock was pulsing and hard again.

Through it all, he maintained total eye contact, daring Rutger to demand more speed on the clothes, or to close the gap between them. There would be no dancing to willful lover's tunes out of Ruger tonight, though, even if the music was to his taste and made his heart race. Let Dieck make obscene motions, he would sit back and enjoy it. Idly, he spit in his own hand, ready to take his own cock to task. Dieck twitched as Rutger spread his legs for his own teasing act.

“You're no fun,” Dieck growled, though his eyes were drinking in the whole of Rutger's body bathed in firelight.

“I'm waiting for you,” Rutger knew his confident grin said everything about the fact that he should be allowed to do something while he waited.

Dieck rose swiftly enough, kicking off his boots, socks, and trousers. He didn't give Rutger a long time to admire the pile of his worldly possessions, striding over, and sinking down between Rutger's legs instantly. Almost gently, he pushed Rutger further back on the bed, hands rubbing along the toned thighs in near reverence.

“Comfortable enough?” Dieck craned his head up to meet Rutger's eyes, his fingers lightly squeezing the bad leg.

With Dieck warm and breathing so close to his cock, Rutger knew he would put up with any healing cramps, or strange jerks in the muscle without complaint. He wove his fingers into Dieck's hair again, pushing past the point that reduced Dieck to moans on any other night in favor of a full grip.

“Yes,” Rutger twisted his hand, expecting the catch of breath, and the way Dieck's hands flexed on his thighs.

What he did not expect was the swift removal of those hands. Dieck pulled them out of the way almost instantly, clasping them behind his back. The bold humor of a challenge was back in his expression, but he waited quietly, knees spread slightly for balance, and for Rutger to make the opening moves.

Rutger took the challenge, forcing Dieck's head down. Hot breath caressed his cock, before Dieck's tongue curled around it, playing with the head. He licked a stripe down the underside, pulling against Rutger's grip to get as far as the root. As soon as his mouth came in contact with Rutger's balls, Rutger knew that he had made a total mistake. Keeping the grip on Dieck's hair tight needed so much control, and everything Dieck was doing completely melted Rutger's control.

Rutger yanked Dieck's mouth back sharply enough to cause a short cry. But Dieck's eyes were glazed dark, drinking in the shadows all over the room, and as soon as Rutger was sure of that, he took careful hold of Dieck's head with both hands, and shoved his cock into that waiting mouth. His stomach flipped as soon as the heat and slickness enveloped him. The tight pressure of tongue and mouth all around him slid up his cock and transferred into his spine, as far as he could tell, racing up to his head where sparks danced and exploded.

Dieck choked around him at first, desperate noises for air vibrating through Rutger's flesh. But Dieck's hand's didn't uncurl from his back, and one brief glance down said that he was hard and shiny with precome in the firelight. Rutger pulled Dieck's head back, and thrust him down again taking all the pleasure that could be provided. Then they found each other's rhythms, and everything came undone as Dieck's throat really opened up, taking in Rutger whole. When Rutger came, Dieck swallowed, and remained taking in the last few pulses as Rutger's hands slipped away from his hair.

The whole day seemed to flow out of Rutger with his orgasm. He slumped, dazed and thrumming from the euphoria. Dieck released him, casually licking any trace of come from Rutger's dick. Finally, Dieck rocked back on his heels, looking pleased with himself, his own erection still jutting from his body.

Rutger eyed it, levering his body off the bed tiredly. “Your turn—”

“Nah,” Dieck pushed him back, leaving his hands to linger again on Rutger's thighs. “I'll take care of it myself.”

“I'm not at death's door, you know,” Rutger protested, even as Dieck somehow maneuvered him into lying on his side.

Dieck just grinned, rising heavily and easily moving Rutger's legs out of the way. When he crawled onto the bed, he was humming in his throat, a rough hoarse sound that made Rutger feel pleased.

“You not being dead doesn't stop you from being tired. Maybe I'm just distracting you so you won't be so closed off about actually sleeping with me. Or maybe I'm not looking forward to explaining to any of our healing types how we undid half their work in one evening.”

Fast as a snake, Rutger reached out to grab Dieck's throat, and pull him close. “I want to. Maybe not with so much bending, but I want to hold you and make you come in my hand tonight. Is that acceptable?”

Under his fingers, he felt the husky acceptance begin even before Dieck said “Yes.”

“Good.”

It was with great reluctance that Rutger let go of Dieck's throat. He struggled upright, and then sighed, feeling a twinge of discomfort running up the back of his left leg. “Okay. Lie down, facing away from me.”

“But I like looking at you,” Dieck was obviously trying to hide a laugh, even as he complied.

Rutger ignored the foolishness, moving forward and draping his arm around Dieck's side. Blindly, he walked his finger down the fight hardened abdomen, until Dieck's hand grabbed his, and guided it impatiently to the destination. As Rutger's hand closed over the wet crown of Dieck's cock, the mercenary's already heavy breathing lost all semblance of steadiness.

Slowly Rutger drew his hand down the shaft, squeezing the base. Dieck tried to jerk against him, and Rutger quickly snaked his other arm under Dieck's side, wrapping around his waist and pulling him back against Rutger's chest. He ran his teeth over Dieck's shoulder, feeling the skin ripple under his mouth. With Dieck's cock in his hand, and the large mercenary's body straining in his grasp, Rutger wanted to sink his teeth in, and hang on until the scar was so deep Dieck would never forget it.

He kissed the canvas of Dieck's shoulder blade with a longing ferocity as his hand sped up. Dieck's fingers stole down to cover his own, trying to control the speed. Rutger let himself get lost in the feeling of callouses above and hot flesh under his palm. The smell of Dieck's body wrapped around him so comfortingly, even as they frantically moved and jerked together.

Rutger felt the throb, and stiff tension under his hands that became a jerk from the hips. Swiftly, he stroked up to catch as much come as possible before it spilled over the bed. Dieck gasped, relaxing back into Rutger's grip. The back of his neck burned Rutger's forehead as they rested together for several heavy breaths. The fire crackled through their personal quiet. Dieck slowly moved Rutger's wet hand, so that he could roll onto his back.

The low light of the fire flickered over Dieck's peaceful expression, which slowly swam into awareness. With a wicked grin, Dieck sat up, taking Rutger's hand with him. He kissed the wrist he held, leading Rutger to think that he was being sentimental. Then the warm tongue darted out and ran the length of Rutger's palm. With a lingering slowness, Dieck licked each finger until it was clean, despite a muttered: “You're being ridiculous.”

Releasing Rutger, Dieck slid from the bed, and made his way to the fire, mending the remaining bits of chair until it was banked embers. “Sure, but neither of us has to sleep on any wet bits of the bed, now.”

Rutger snorted, rolling over, and pulling up his blanket to his ears. After a moment, the pallet dipped, and the bed creaked with new weight. He heard Dieck sigh somewhere above his head, but nothing touched him. When Dieck did settle in, pressing into Rutger's space with blanket and sheepskin, he did so with his back to Rutger, so they weren't sharing anything more than minimal heat.

With that comforting thought, Rutger managed to relax, and drift away into the shadows and ghosts dancing in and out of the waking world. Wind and rain might be blowing outside, but with the burning embers, it was still warm, and the room smelled of damp and wood rot, not ash and smoke.

The grayness of the morning, shambling shapes in the mist filled Rutger's world. Lost faces looked for people who had died the night before. Had been killed by those same faces. Street after street, neighborhood after neighborhood, all gone. Gutted houses reared up, tall as orphanages and bulging, crowding open squares and empty meeting spaces. Rutger stood in the middle of it all, clutching his sword, and waiting for anyone he knew.

He was bolt upright and gasping in the dark of a room leagues from the destroyed houses and empty city. Beside him, someone he knew very well shifted, and rolled into the cooling space between their bedrolls. Trembling, Rutger sank back down, trying to curl around the nightmare and strangle it.

Dieck rolled again, this time coming to a halt half on top of Rutger. As the weight pressed him down, Rutger grabbed for arm thrown over his shoulders, and moved it to the familiar circle around his waist. He held on, hollow eyes on watch for sleep to ambush him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gone back and forth on how to interpret Rutger's hints about his life in Sacae, his many layers of identity, and what meeting Shin, who is exactly what Sacaen culture wants people to be, and extremely set in his ways when all of his supports begin, would bring to the surface. You can't get into Rutger's past without dealing with modern interpretations of racism, and there is the meta-level concern that his back story was written by people from a nationality that has different cultural approach to racism than I do. I do worry that I ended up taking the cliched way out as the story progresses. I'm happy to have a discussion about what's going on, and how to deal with it in the story.


	7. The Captured Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The light of morning can bring a lot of changes and new resolutions.

Morning had arrived, because Rutger could now hear birds singing where only wind had sighed through the wall stones. He was probably waking up for the second time, though it didn't feel as though he had gotten any sleep. But he was not longer staring into shadows. Stones in the wall and dark tapestries were now visible, so presumably some trick of the room was letting in the changing light of day. Maybe there was a window in this guest chamber that had not been boarded up.

Or it could be that the door to their room was open. At that dawning realization, Rutger struggled to sit up, but Dieck was making a sterling impression of a boulder, or even a wyvern, and Rutger's attempts to wiggle out from under him resulted in a tighter grip around Rutger's waist, and Dieck's nose pressing into his back, while Dieck murmured something unintelligible.

Someone coughed gently, as Rutger managed to prop himself on his elbows. Saul had his arms crossed, fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on the crook of one elbow. “Hey. Just wanted to tell you that a couple of the boys brought up one of the washroom cauldrons to that place we had dinner. They're scrubbing it out now. If you were hoping to get your clothes done in the first wash, well, now's the time.”

Rutger nodded his assent, turning to shove Dieck away. Apparently, Dieck not only slept like a rock, he was about as sensible as one to the movements of irritated bed partners. Rutger finally found a long natural sword scar that ran down Dieck's side, and forced a wheezy whimpering noise from his nose when touched lightly. The second time Rutger tried that tactic, Dieck convulsed, and the third time, it became outright laughter, with Dieck opening one bleary and betrayed eye at the end.

“Stoppit. Sleep.”

“Let go of me.”

“You're supposed to be more romantic,” Dieck tried to dig deeper under the covers while pulling Rutger with him. “Like kisses in the morning.”

“I need to wash my clothes and get breakfast. Let go,” Rutger wondered where Dieck had found his inane expectations, but as he twisted in the strong grasp, he saw a certain alertness in Dieck's eyes, which should not be there just after waking up. “You were awake when I began tickling you.”

“Sort of,” Dieck confessed, loosening his grip. “You're fun to annoy.”

Now that near escape had been obtained, Rutger twisted to look back at Dieck. “You're terrible.”

“Think of it as revenge for last night. You nearly pulled my hair out.”

The nervous tick at Rutger's mouth happened before he could control it. With a tension born of hesitance, Rutger sank back on the pillows to be closer to Dieck's level. Even though the answer was yes every time he thought to ask the question, there was always the worry that this time Dieck would mean his griping. “Did you enjoy last night?”

Calloused fingers scraped along his chin with careless ease. “Yeah. Though I'm not going to be letting you have any say in what goes down my throat for a while. For a bit there I didn't think I would be able to talk today. Which would be a terrible blow to you, I'm sure.”

“Sometimes your conversation isn't horrible,” Rutger rolled his eyes as he got out of bed. Relief settled on his shoulders at the easy assurances, even so. At least the priest had vanished while he was extracting himself from Dieck's grasp.

He fetched his kit and sword from the floor by the fireplace. He was minus a blanket and bedroll, still. Over his shoulder, the blanket thief sat up, rubbing sleepily at the back of his neck. Dieck caught the exasperated glance, grinned, and held up the blanket Rutger had been using.

“Missing something?”

“Don't tell me you're going to hold it hostage to keep me in here,” Rutger could see the mischief radiating from every bone in Dieck's body.

“Mmm,” Dieck hopped off the bed, and approached, blanket in hand. “I might. But knowing you, you'd just go out there and scar the impressionable minds.”

It was the second time in two days someone had implied that Rutger's body wasn't fit for decent company. “I'm glad I'm so ugly that I make a memorable impression.”

“Not quite,” Dieck swung the blanket around Rutger's back, and fussed with tucking it securely around his waist. “I'm just not sure I want everyone to see what a prize I have all to myself. For all that you're an unromantic jerk who tickles innocent mercenaries out of their well earned sleep.”

Rutger felt his breath catch. What about the innocent mercenary's night time sleep? He didn't remember waking his partner when he shot out of that nightmare, but if he had—was Dieck implying that he had?

Dieck merely continued trying to cover him properly, and he didn't make any mention of Rutger's strange movements last night. Maybe Dieck had slept the whole night through. Rutger suddenly caught an intense stare from the area near his navel, and looked down. Dieck looked away quickly.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Dieck straightened up, patting his cheek roughly. “Just noticed that you need a shave.”

“So do you.”

“Maybe when I'm properly awake. I'm thinking about just going back to the nice warm half bed you've left me. Lying around lazily, contemplating things. You know.”

“We'll probably be on the road before the end of the day.”

“All the more reason to steal what rest I can,” Dieck turned away, stretching with an exaggerated flexing of muscle that made the red half circles on his shoulder brighten.

Rutger rolled his eyes, knowing showing off when he saw it. Indeed, as he made his way to the impromptu great hall, his gear in hand, he noticed Dieck putting on his pants. By the time Rutger made it to the stairs, Dieck was following at a lazy distance.

The small common room had a new centerpiece. The table that Roy had been using for his charts had been shoved into one corner, where Roy, Marcus, and Lance were standing, arguing among themselves, and Barth, who was tapping a paper with deliberate slowness. In its place, one of the copper wash tubs had been dragged up, and was now being scrubbed briskly by Sister Ellen, Brother Saul saying encouraging things. Thany and Fir waited besides the cauldron on the fireplace, shooting glares at Merlinus, who had a frying pan at his feet, and complained that they could boil the water for their washing at any time, but breakfast should be punctual.

Saul stopped ignoring the helpful hints that he be useful, and hurried over to Rutger. “Um, how's your leg and back? It should have healed in the night, as long as you weren't too rough on it. And since no one heard you, I'm guessing that you weren't—” he trailed off, making vague hand motions again.

“My back is fine,” Rutger wondered if he could make Saul splutter. The hand waving was speeding up in a silent plea for no more details than necessary. “My left leg is a little stiff. Is that normal?”

“Really? No, that's fine! Better than I had expected. Er, uh, as your healer and spiritual guide, I'm very very pleased that you, um, found a position for yourselves that didn't hurt your back, Rutger. That was my concern when Thany suggested she wake you up before the wash was started. I know how dangerous that kind of activity can be for you, er, men, who, um. Well, I know. That's good! You're healing fine, and that's great, and, um. You didn't have any shaking fits did you?”

Rutger had felt that he was missing something as Saul continued to babble on about the kind of man he was. Then the question about his nightmares appeared like a chilling breeze sweeping down his spine. He could feel the looming presence of the mercenary behind him. There was only the hope that Dieck's attention had wandered, or he was thinking about protecting Thany from solicitous priests. “I'm fine.”

“Good. Good. Well, I will want to check in tomorrow, but for now, breakfast awaits,” and Saul took himself off.

Dieck chuckled. “I think he's got quite the wrong idea about us.”

“He seemed pretty clear on what's going on,” Rutger shrugged, trying to decide whether he should wait by the boiling water, and deal with the newcomer Fir, or help with the scrubbing out of the wash tub and deal with the priestess.

“Ah, no. I mean, he thinks wounded delicate you is being preyed upon by big bad mercenary me,” Dieck laughed again. “You'd think he hadn't been in the same camp as us for the last few months.”

“Well, that's not my problem. If you want to prove him wrong, I suppose I could take you in the healer's tent sometime when he's on duty,” Rutger hid his smirk at the expression that passed over Dieck's face, preferring to play completely serious. “Now, I've got a stake to claim on the washing cycle. See if you can hunt me up some thread, will you? I'm not sure I've got enough in my kit.”

“Which one of us is a captain, again?” Dieck asked, already moving towards Merlinus. “You'd think not being ordered around for trivial things was one of the perks.”

Rutger ignored him, deciding to remain close to the hot water until the wooden tub was full cleaned. When he arrived at the fireplace, Thany waved, and Fir repeated the wave a little hesitantly. Rutger nodded once, settling himself by the fire. “Is there soap, or are we using lye?” he inquired, trying not to wince at the idea of stinging chapped skin that would make holding his sword hilt a torture for days afterward.

“Wade's down looking through Merlinus' wagon now,” Thany grinned. “That old man is such a snob. He wouldn't let us use his good soap until Roy asked if he could wash his clothes as well. General Roy has three tunics with him, can you imagine? I'm lucky that I still haul around my dress uniform from when I was a page.”

“You should see Clarine's baggage,” Rutger pointed out.

Thany laughed this time. “She's beginning to change her tune about having an evening dress for dinner, at least. Though she had a fit when I said you'd been running around in a blanket yesterday. Are you her bodyguard?”

“She thinks I am,” Rutger shrugged, and inched closer the the bricks radiating heat from the hearth.

“She says you should have told her in Aquelia that you only had one set of clothes. She had thought that you were being scruffy and unkempt on purpose. I told her you probably were.”

“Of course I am. She's so much livelier when she has someone to scold.”

“You're terrible,” Thany's face was made for smiles. “No wonder you and Bro get along.”

Get along was not how Rutger would put it, but he just shrugged again. Thany was one of the points where Dieck got tetchy, and Rutger decided that saying Dieck liked the way Rutger hit him was probably not going to go over very well. For a moment, the memory of the water racing through Etruria's countryside stirred. Perhaps 'get along' was a little closer to the truth than Rutger would like to admit.

Fir, however, thought that she saw a dawning light. “So, wait, Thany, you're Dieck's younger sister?”

“What? No!” As Thany's face went red, Rutger tried to hide his smile. “Dieck's the captain of my company. I just call him Bro because the others do. And he's so weird about it. My sisters would want me to call him Captain, but he says that he doesn't like it when I do that, but when I call him Bro, he says he doesn't like that, either. But I like it, and he's so funny about the whole thing that it's easy to tease him this way.”

“Oh,” Fir looked away. “Huh. But you have sisters? What's it like, having sisters?”

Rutger felt a grim certainty creeping up on him. Had she lost her family? What had happened at Bulgar had echoed over the plains because so many people had been involved, but had Fir come from another place Bern had destroyed because of the faces of the people?

“Awful,” Thany replied, not picking up on the sudden change in mood. “Don't do it if you don't have to. Nah, I'm kidding. Mostly. My sister Tate is really difficult to live with. She's so strict, and she's really focused on becoming great knight, which means it's hard to live up to her example. And she's really good, too! Her flight wing has a long standing contract with one of Etruria's noble houses! But because of that, she's always serious, you know? I wish she was a little more like Yuno, our eldest sister. Yuno's really kind and strong, and she knows how to be a great knight commander while being really compassionate to everyone. I hope to be a good as her one day. And hey, yesterday I was pretty great, and I'm getting better.”

Fir grinned fiercely. “Yeah. You were. Hey, when we're done with chores this morning, want to duel? I need to get better as well.”

“But, Fir, I'm a lance user, and you're a sword user,” Thany began. “Ask Rutger, he's—”

“Busy,” Rutger interrupted, frowning. Duel? Like foolish Bernian nobles playing to first blood?

Fir ignored the whole thing. “Well, that's the point. You don't think that all my opponents are going to be kind enough to use axes, do you? It will be just like the arena,” another warning bell sounded in Rutger's mind. Just who was this girl who treated swordsmanship like a game? “Besides, maybe if I get good enough against you, Sir Noah will have a serious bout with me to make up for the last one.”

Thany giggled. “Noah's terrible with a lance. Well, okay, that's mean, but even I'm a lot better, and I haven't been a knight as long as he has. I actually haven't been fully confirmed as a knight. Though I suppose it isn't fair, because he's really good with swords, and he splits his attention between weapons in training.”

“Um, sorry, but the wash tub is ready for the water now,” Sister Ellen called. “Sir Wade even found some of the old paddles and a wringer while he was searching for soap.”

“Great!” Thany scrambled up, and using her own torn and bloodstained tunic that was waiting for the wash pile, she tried to heave the simmering water cauldron from the fire.

Rutger and Fir leaped to help, Fir forgetting in her speed that she didn't have any way of holding the scorching metal of the cauldron's handle. She jumped back almost as quickly as she had headed forward, but used the narrow escape from blistered palms to search for the hook that should have been used to lift the kettle in the first place.

Thany and Rutger tipped the water into the wooden tub in a frothing roar, promising scalding and pain to any who interfered with its approach. The hook and its long pole appeared to take the now cooling metal from their improvised cloth holders. Both attendees of the cauldron let Fir take it away, and tossed their clothing into the fresh pool of heated water. The small pile of clothes that Sister Ellen had been guarding went in after, and they all waited, while Lance broke off from the tactical conference at a run to grab a few more items from the knightlier classes.

Fir had taken the cauldron to get a refill for the next heap of laundry, but Merlinus quickly commandeered the fire to make breakfast. Soon the smell of some large eggy hash, that no doubt thriftily reused every vegetable and fruit from the last six meals prepared for the army, filled the common room. Good cooks and provisioners as Merlinus and Marcus were, Rutger had noticed that most of his meals with the army were made of left overs from other equally good tasting meals. He wondered briefly if the fresh cabbage bargained for in Araphen was still making the rounds of their food in one form or another.

Once Lance was back, there was a flurry of activity over the tubs. Wade had been recruited as the one with the most awake muscles to be the prime paddler, and soon the first wash of mud and grime and filth was being tossed out the window, while Fir tried to get the next cauldron of water to the tub before it cooled, yelling at everyone to watch out while she ran from a private room further along the hall, cauldron wobbling and bouncing on that hook only a hair's length above the floor. Dieck grabbed the pole when Fir sagged next to the wash tub, and took over the duty of getting more water.

Rutger watched impatiently, taking turns to stir and beat the sodden piles whenever Wade grew tired, or was called to drop more of the soap shavings on the clothing. Even with both of them, however, the job remained monumental, and soon Barth was pulled over to help. Roy took a turn right after, much to the dismay of Lance, who insisted that he should have gone first, as Roy's knight. Rutger wanted to mutter that he would get his turn soon enough, but his mouth was full of breakfast and he was too tired to do anything but chew.

“This is fun, isn't it?” Fir asked Thany, as Roy staggered past the both of them to the hearth for his portion of the meal.

Thany just gave her a look. “There's thirty more people's clothes to get through. Wait until you're doing this thrice a fortnight in an army camp from the back of Merlinus' wagon.”

Rutger was a little surprised. He rarely noticed the communal wash days, and had thought they happened only once a fortnight, if that often. However, Rutger always did his own clothing separately whenever they overnighted anywhere with flowing water, or let a castle laundress take care of things. It was less of a hassle than the communal wash, and he suspected that his mother's long ago mutterings about how dirty Lycians and Ilians allowed themselves to get had colored his view of the whole camp.

“I don't know,” Roy called over his shoulder. “It's sort of nice, getting all this done together. Ah, Captain Dieck! Look, Wade and Lott are from the Islands, right? We need to have a discussion about where to go next. Has anyone seen Shin and Sue? They gathered the intelligence, so they should be here, too.”

Fir jumped up. “I'll find them! Lady Sue went on a ride with Shin this morning. I should be able to track where they went.”

“Er, and Lott's off trying to get some fish to add to our stores,” Wade agreed, rising with almost as much eagerness from the side of the wash basin. “I'll just go find him.”

He nearly bowled over Lilina, as she came into the common room rubbing tired eyes. She stared after the retreating backs with a morning fuzziness that suggested their might be some hibernating bear in her ancestry. “Morning everyone. How does Fir have so much energy all the time?”

“She's a newcomer,” Lance pointed out, his eyes too, cast downwards, possibly from tiredness, but since he had been rushing about with just as much eagerness as Fir earlier, Rutger doubted it. “She probably is trying to make herself useful until she fits in.”

“Shin isn't exactly trying all that hard,” Thany pointed out. “Last night, when everyone was having fun fighting over rooms, he just said he'd take the sable, and went outside.”

“Perhaps we should stop gossiping about our comrades in arms, and get back to our own activities,” Marcus suggested, giving the whole room a look that said 'Young people these days! I am feeling a lecture about proper military brotherhood coming on.'

Roy's mouth, which had been about to open, shut immediately. As the general became silent and seriously turned toward his own breakfast, the people around him did the same, the attitude spreading out around the room, and then slowly dissolving into chatter. Rutger watched the change with faint surprise. Was it because they had all taken Marcus' advice, knowing that they would be fighting together with Fir and Shin at least for the rest of the Isles campaign, if not the postponed war with Bern? Or was it because they were all so used to reflecting each other's behavior, the general's most of all, from fighting together as an army?

Rutger leaned back, watching the activity around him just as always. It was easy to slip away from conversations, even in this enclosed room, when the more energetic people were there. Thany always seemed to capture the attention of any group she was in, saying whatever was on her mind, and making everyone laugh.

Lilina and Roy had drifted together again, talking with Lance about some shared experience that they remembered from their childhood—as though that had been years, and not months ago. Rutger was always surprised how deferential Lilina was. Ostia's noble house was, well, notorious for producing rulers that were either ambitious or ruthless, and entirely dominant in any group of similar rulers. Lilina defied the reputation that had reached as far as the Plains of Sacae, seeming to want nothing but friendship from everyone.

Perhaps that allowed her to make a similar mark as her ancestors without resorting to clanging heads together and declaring how things would be done. It certainly allowed her to draw Fir and Sue effortlessly into the small circle around Roy when they returned. Rutger was wringing the last of the water from his clothing at that point, and wasn't able to catch the conversation, but he saw Shin standing protectively behind Sue. He turned his attention back to his clothes, ignoring even Dieck, who brushed past him for the conference taking form around the lordlings.

When Lugh and Chad rushed into the room, holding another pile of clothes, Rutger took the line and his own clothes downstairs and outside. He should have probably stayed, and listened to the plans forming. He was a lone mercenary, after all. It was his responsibility to speak for himself in an army.

Still, it felt better to be out in the watery sunshine and the rain soaked air of the drying yard. This castle, despite its disrepair, had a good drying yard, facing south off the stables. Sunlight did its best to flood the yard, and the posts were tall enough so that even the largest wool blanket would hang far from the ground. Rutger strung up the line, admiring the way it cut the castle keep into two precise separate halves, if he stood back with his head at the right angle.

He was just hanging up his tattered surcoat, when he sensed another person behind him. Turning to look over his shoulder, he was surprised to see that Oujay was just standing quietly, looking at him. He hadn't been aware that Oujay could be quiet. Shy, filled with the kind of clumsiness that came with nerves, and given to saying everything that was passing through his mind was how Rutger would have described the Ostian free mercenary.

“Yes?”

“I, I was just wondering if the meeting had broken up yet.”

“Not that I know.”

“Why aren't you at the morning meeting, then?”

“I needed to get my clothes cleaned and repaired as soon as possible.”

“Oh. So, you're going back, then? I mean, Sir Barth said he'd speak for me. But you aren't attached to anyone.”

Rutger twitched his shirt so that it hung better on the line. He didn't like that Oujay had just spoken his own thoughts. He wanted to stay out here, in the fresh air and empty sunshine. “What they decide doesn't effect me.”

“I know that we're just common mercenaries,” Oujay said quietly, “but, maybe it matters?”

Finally turning from the laundry, Rutger raked his eyes over Oujay. “I don't know about you. I'm here to be pointed in one direction, and kill anyone who gets in my way.” Dieck had been right about that. He really was only good at grinding his way through enemies.

Oujay hung his head. “Okay.”

As he turned away, Rutger wondered if the pointless words had a point beyond filling empty air. After all, Chad's attempt to wrangle sword lessons had been preceded by trivial discussion of guard duty. He glared, to scare Oujay off, but as the young mercenary was already walking toward the gaping mouth of the castle entrance, this did not have any effect.

“Rutger?” Oujay looked over his shoulder, slowing down. “If it's not too much to ask, but what cause do you have? I mean, why do you fight?”

“I need to destroy Bern. Until then, I need to eat just the same as anyone,” Rutger pointed out, reluctantly coming nearer so he wasn't shouting across the yard. “This company allows me to do that.”

“Oh.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“No. Of course not,” Oujay's voice pitched into high nervousness and Rutger didn't know whether to be amused or irritated. “Sir Bors told me something. About fighters needing causes, and I don't really have anything like his determination to serve Ostia forever. I'm a mercenary, and there will be other jobs after this one, no matter how nice Lady Lilina is. I tried asking Captain Dieck, but he just said he wanted fame once, and now he's looking after other people like him. But I don't have anything like that, so, I was wondering—”

“I'm not a model for you,” Rutger cut him off. At least he hoped he wasn't. Nice as it would been to have more hope that the fight against Bern would not end if he did die, the world didn't need any more people like him, or that quiet evidence of destruction that confronted the children from Araphen.

“No. I guess not,” Oujay's mouth quirked upward, though his eyebrows remained furrowed in worry, leaving his whole expression rather like a puppy who had just done something wrong and was clinging to the hope that no one would notice. “Sorry for bothering you. Um, do you want me to come get you when the decision about our next plans gets announced?”

Rutger, sure that he could probably find out where the whole army was going without Oujay's interference, was about to say no, when Wendy popped her head around the door in a blaze of pink.

“Oujay! Oh, and Master Rutger, why are you out there? Come on, General Roy has something he wants to say to the whole army! Is anyone else around?”

Rutger let go of his fantasy of a quiet morning alone. Some things were unavoidable. He followed Oujay back into the keep, trying to linger just outside of the shadows of the entrance as long as possible. However, with Wendy leading the way at a brisk walk, looking around for people who might not have heard, lingering was not particularly on the table.

That was the problem with a growing army, Rutger thought. Even during the summer, there were few enough people that if the plans of the army changed, or great decisions were made, Marcus, Lance and Allen would run around and deliver the news. Even if Rutger managed to escape the knights, nothing could escape Merlinus' rumor mill. Now they were all gathering together like the good sheep of an organized army. The followers were now responsible for knowing their orders, rather than the leaders being responsible for relaying the orders.

However, when they made their way up to the common room, the palpable tension in the air made Rutger consider that just perhaps he had been a bit too harsh in his internal grumbling. With the room now packed with people all trying various poses of nonchalance without the space to actually be nonchalant, that underlying current only served to put Rutger on his guard.

Roy cleared his throat. “As some of you know, this part of the Isles used to boast two major settlements beholden to this castle. When we arrived the castle had been taken over by bandits, as the Etrurian government had told us, so it made sense that the people of the villages were trying to escape the area before the bandits could set themselves up as new overlords.

“Yesterday, thanks to the work of Rutger, Sue and Shin, we were able to provide a corridor of safety for the fleeing villagers. However, as the villagers were leaving, they told Lady Sue some things that possibly change our mission in the Isles,” Roy frowned, looking more like an angry child than Rutger had ever seen him appear before. Nevertheless, his voice was calm as he continued, that stubborn frown the only clue as to what he actually thought of the whole affair.

“The Isles are overrun with bandits, so much so that the local serfs have had to organize a militia of sorts, which doesn't make much sense, when we know an eighth of the Etrurian army is already stationed here to protect the mines. But it has also been said that people here in the South without the protection of overlords are often getting pressed into working the mines in the north. That would mean the bandits would be making serfs and freemen here into slaves. Which shouldn't be able to get past the army officials who handle transport to the north, and keep the records of the convicts that are supposed to be getting sentenced to the mines. From what the villagers said to Sue, well, it sounds as though many members of the army, here in the south at least, are, are, well, using their authority to be bandits themselves.”

There was a gasp of shocked outrage that had a distinctly Clarine-ish sound to it. “You are mistaken! My brother is with the army here on the Isles, and he would never do a thing like that! You are insulting my family's—”

Roy tried to back up a step to ward against the force of feeling in Clarine's words. However, he was already using the desk shoved against the wall as his backdrop, and there was no where really to step back to. “I did not say all the forces here, Clarine! Just some. I am sure your brother is a man of honor. I simply worry, that the Etrurian crown does not really know what is going on here. They never told us about this, after all. We have to find out more.

“We could go to the mines directly. The largest jewel mine is on Mount Ebrakhm, where the Church has sent its representative. But passing to the north unnoticed by the military officers we suspect of being corrupted would be difficult.

“There are rumors of the militia gathering to the West of here. They probably have their own agenda, but we might be able to find out a lot from them. The problem is that talking with them might bring us again into open conflict with pieces of the Etrurian military that like the chaos of situation here as it stands.”

A low mumbling hum of chatter broke out. Rutger tried to listen with one ear as he searched the crowd for some sign of Dieck. He suspected that there would be an interesting twist of cynicism on the Etrurians mercenary's face. However, before he could spot green hair and weathered skin, Lott raised a hand, and stood.

“Um, just so you all know, Wade and I, we're from around here. Our village is just down the coastline to the west. We could probably find out a bunch from the locals. They'd trust us far more than any Etrurians. Not sure how we'd fare up north, however. Before the Etrurians came, there used to be a lot of blood feuds between the clans down here and up there in North Fibernia and Dia.”

Rutger could imagine. The main clans in Sacae had proven themselves the strongest through generations of warfare, stealing herds and women back and forth from one another. Even when peace reigned, or they entered neutral territory like the markets of Bulgar, average clansmen would not talk to the bearer of the wrong colors or patterns unless it was trivial, or need was so great that clan secrets had to be aired abroad.

“We need to decide fast,” Barth rumbled. “Either way, we have to be underway by tomorrow morning. We're giving you all until the sun reaches it's zenith to put in your opinions, and then we make a decision. One way or another.”

Predictably, the usual suspects—Clarine and Thany at the head of the opinionated—pushed forward. Rutger allowed himself to be moved closer to the fire as he sought out Dieck. It was easy enough to slip around the press of humanity, trying to count heads at the edges of the throng. He was far from the only one not terribly interested in raising his voice. Sue was slipping towards the hall closest to the stairs with a speed and subtlety that would have done a grass viper proud. Shin, standing silently next to Fir, hadn't even noticed his charge sliding away under his nose.

Rutger paused for a moment, wondering if he should tell Shin. He would have the petty enjoyment of proving that he was better at keeping track of the lady than her supposed bodyguard. However, the crux of that point was the pettiness of the proof. Trying to prove to Shin something utterly pointless had consigned his day to laundry duty and sewing, already. Besides, he had caught sight of Dieck rising from a seat near a tapestry that had probably once commemorated some long ago battle.

“No opinion for the lords?” Rutger asked, holding out a hand in case Dieck needed the leverage.

The captain snorted, grabbing Rutger's hand as he pulled himself upright. “You just missed my dust up with Marcus, didn't you? I think I've said enough to make my feelings clear.”

“Oh?”

“Nothing special. I just pointed out what we all knew: we'd been sent here in revenge for Etruria's involvement in the war with Bern, and they don't expect or want us to come back alive. Any nobles who we thought would give us shelter won't do any such thing, and the army is soon going to turn against us if we get caught talking to the villeins. Marcus was a little outraged when I used some rude terms to describe the whole situation.”

Rutger could imagine. Dieck's rude words had probably sounded like an attack on the honor of Roy, just as the comments about the army had sounded like an attack on the honor of Clarine's elder brother. “Just talking to Lott and Wade's people is going to look suspicious?”

“Of course,” that fleeting dark cynicism flashed in Dieck's eyes again. “You don't start examining the furniture until you want to find out who's been kicking it, do you?”

“What?”

For a moment, Dieck looked truly perplexed, as though he had just said something funny, and Rutger had not understood the joke. He shook his head. “It would look suspicious. Nobles don't normally care about serfs they don't own.”

Ah. The baffling lines of separation outside of Sacae were raising their heads again. Rutger supposed that he would have found it suspicious if, say, a group of Kutolah warriors stopped for a long chat with any of the caravans he had guarded in the long gone summers, but he would have been suspecting a raid on the caravan, after the hunting party learned the trade route. That was all in the context of being a guard, and knowing what young men thirsting to prove their daring were likely to do in the height of summer months.

There would have been no trouble if the caravan was in neutral territory, and the warriors were interested in knowing the herd patterns that tradesmen had spotted. Even high clansmen could speak to people without a clan, and it wouldn't indicate anything beyond the personal conversation being held.

“You know better how Etruria's nobles deal with each other,” Rutger began, shrugging. “I am just an outsider, after all. It's very different at home.”

“You've always been a freeman, too,” Dieck agreed easily. “It's different for people who have to serve. All it takes is one selfish master and everything goes bad.”

Rutger paused, wondering if he should ask. Many of Dieck's little hesitations and evasions seemed tied to the position he had once held in a noble house, and the rumors that had made him buy himself free, a concept Rutger still had trouble understanding when he really thought about it. On the river, Dieck had sounded wistful for the place he once had, but all of his cynicism came to the fore whenever discussing nobility and service.

“Was the lord you had before the one whose son you saved one of the selfish ones?”

In the evasive darting of Dieck's eyes, Rutger wondered if he had asked too much, or if his question had been too direct. Suddenly, Dieck reached out a hand again, tangling his fingers together with Rutger's. “Hey, let's get get out of here, if we're going to talk about heavy stuff.”

The conversation around them had been rising and falling, but whenever Clarine was trying to make a point, it rose to a level that would have needed yelling to surpass. Rutger wasn't averse to slipping away from the stone room and its fireplace, only to head toward the dark staircase leading to the ground floor. In the darker passageways of the keep, away from the rest of the army, it almost felt comfortable. He even found his thumb rubbing the hard knuckles and veined skin of the back of Dieck's hand, and smiled to himself.

Dieck stopped uncertainly in the hall leading to the abandoned washroom. Voices filtered down from overhead, but there were only shadows and the faint smell of mildew to keep them company. It wasn't very good company, however, and Rutger tugged Dieck onward, back to the drying yard. “Outside. It's sunny for autumn.”

“Yeah, but you're wearing basically nothing. Won't you get cold?” Dieck protested, using possibly the most ridiculous argument in the history of ridiculous arguments to stay and chat with mold eating spiders.

“I'm wearing more than you are,” Rutger pointed out, feeling the weight of the double fold of blanket around his waist and rationalizing that it was probably more material than Dieck's pants and armor combined.

“Okay. Won't I get cold? Man, you've been trying to run outside all day.”

Rutger gave him a long look as they entered the sun filled yard. “Is it too cold for your sensitive self?”

Dieck mimed a smack at Rutger's head with his free hand. His rueful grin was enough to make up for it, however, and Rutger decided to forgive him when he pulled Rutger against his chest. “Don't be fresh, you jerk.”

“I have to worry about your flower-like condition, though,” Rutger smirked, pushing Dieck back against the dark stones of the keep.

For a moment they stood, hand in hand, drowning in silence. Rutger could feel the heat the stones soaked up from the sunshine licking at the fingers Dieck held. It was a little brisk out in the open, but surely against that wall, Dieck would be warm enough.

“So,” Dieck began, falling silent again, before looking away. “So. Hey, could you turn around?”

Rutger's eyebrows tangled into knots of confusion, but he complied, turning in a half circle, stilling when Dieck's hands lighted on his hips to stop him.

“Heh. Thanks,” like a familiar shepherd's crook, Dieck's arm looped around his stomach. “Sorry, your eyes get a little scary when you haven't had much sleep. I'd just rather talk about this without the nagging feeling you're planning to murder me.”

“You don't have to talk about it. I'm not your family or anything.”

Rutger tried very hard to stay relaxed, hoping the words distracted Dieck from the comment about lack of sleep. Dieck just meant that they had gotten to bed late. He was not talking about Rutger's waking up again in the middle of the night. Getting worked up while Dieck was actually holding him was going to raise questions. Forcefully, Rutger pushed himself back into the lazy embrace, daring Dieck to find any tension in his body.

“Mmph! Hey, careful, I don't want to eat your hair, you know,” Dieck gasped.

The complaint seemed a bit like too much protesting, given the way the embrace deepened even as Dieck puffed at the offending hair. Rutger just settled for closing his eyes and basking in the sunlight with someone who wanted to be in his company.

“So. Selfish lordlings. Not that I haven't seen my share, but my first lord wasn't really that bad, or anything. If you want the truth, I was a really bad bondsman. My father had given his bond, and the bond of the next seven generations to a nobleman who gave him protection from bandits and a farm of his own,” Dieck rested his unshaven chin on Rutger's shoulder. “He just didn't count on a son who didn't want to have anything to do with farming, and willful enough to run away to the big city in Reimi.

“If you live as a freeman for a year and a day, your bond is broken. I'd pick up an odd job for the day, and go to the fighting pits at night. Usually around harvest time, I'd be dragged back to my lord's land, whipped, and set in the stocks for a few days. After that, I'd pull in the harvest, and run away in the winter again. That was the rhythm of life.”

Dieck trailed off. When the silence ran longer than a natural pause in the story, Rutger opened his eyes. Yards away Sister Ellen was hanging other clothes on the line. If Rutger strained, he could hear a faint humming of a tune he refused to recognize. “Continue. She won't hear if you keep your voice low.”

“Always going to have it your way?” Dieck leaned in just enough to rub his sharp nose against Rutger's cheek. “Since I turned out to be a big strong boy, my lord didn't want to loose my labor. My father thought I would turn out to be a decent family man when I got the wildness out of me. Meanwhile I hated them both for not seeing there could be so much more to life than waiting on the wind and rain.

“After a while I started running further and further away, until I made it to Aquelia. I loved it there. I was finally free, and learned all sorts of terrible things while a crowd as wild as I was cheered for my death. But I don't know. I'd go home when autumn started ripening, hand over what was left of my winnings, and take my beating like a good bondsman.

“My lord wasn't an evil man. That's just the way things were. He owned me, and I was constantly causing him grief, except at harvest time. He took his duty to protect me seriously, even if he didn't exactly understand,” Dieck's chuckle was a quiet rumble that shook through Rutger, “that I had no problem whatsoever when one of his overseers tied me to a support post in the stable and thrashed me soundly. But he tried to protect me, and hold up his end of the bond as best he could. I thought I had lucked out.

“Then I met Lord Pent and his lady, and they took my bond. They treated me like some sort of son. One who just liked the things I liked, and that wasn't a problem to be grown out of. I wasn't someone who owed them fealty or anything, except on papers I couldn't read, and the whole world of service was fine, since I was finally doing something that I was good at.

“But it made me think, too. I wanted to serve them for the rest of my life, but only because they didn't take that service for granted. Anyone with lesser lords always has to be on the look out. One selfish lord, who thinks only of the service owed to them, and nothing of the person giving the service, can be a disaster. My lord wasn't evil, but he never thought of me, or tried to come to an arrangement where I could serve him in some way that did not depend on farming for the rest of my life. And he was a good lord, all things told. He never imprisoned me for running away so often. An annual bout in the stocks and that was all. Repeat violent drunks get longer sentences.”

Rutger felt the breath on his skin as Dieck sighed. The hands spanning his stomach clutched tightly for a moment, and then relaxed. “All in all, I can't complain much. But I still feel everyone caught in a bond should be wary. Is it really different in Sacae?”

“Yes,” Rutger wrapped his hands over Dieck's tangle of fingers, marveling at how easy this was even when they didn't begin with a sword fight or competition. “Though it might be different for tribesmen. They have their chiefs and councils to answer to. But at the trade areas, well, we have arbiters and the law of Sacae, which is harder in some ways. But no man will ever own another quite like that.”

“I've wanted to ask, what's the difference between being from Sacae and not being part of a tribe? I always thought all nomads were from some tribe or other. Then I met you, and Fir said she's not part of any tribe, either.”

“Oh? When did she tell you that?” Rutger tried to keep his voice light. “She didn't name the town she was from, did she?”

“Mm. It was when Sue and Shin came over to relieve Dorothy in the battle yesterday. Sue said you'd been nearly killed, and Fir asked if there was anything special they'd have to do if you died, since she didn't know anything about Sacae, and it obviously mattered to you a lot. Lectures on funeral rites in the middle of battle are really silly, don't you think?”

The fingers clenched tightly as Dieck's voice rolled from his chest to his throat, trying so hard to sound like a joke. Awareness of the priestess blissfully tying up washing on the line pressed on Rutger as plainly as the protective spread of Dieck's hands. But he didn't care if people found him biting and scratching Dieck in dark corners. He refused to care if he shocked some holy Bernian right now in the sunlight, as he craned his head around to kiss Dieck softly.

“I really do promise to dodge next time, if it makes you feel better.”

“Oh, tons,” Dieck agreed, his voice thick, ducking his head for another kiss. “You know, you need more people to worry about you. You're almost kind when you're feeling guilty about getting hurt.”

Rutger rolled his eyes, digging an elbow into Dieck's side. “I don't care about 'people.'”

“Mm,” Dieck smiled into his neck. “You know, I once thought you were shy when it came to anyone you couldn't kill in good conscience. No. It just turns out you're a jerk who hates people. Should I be worried that sometimes I still find it strangely cute?”

“Probably,” his skin prickled, and his stomach did a little back flip. “Shy. Hmm. Do you treat all your lovers to such honest opinions?”

“Only when they're jerks who need a little encouragement. As for shy, it's an easy mistake, I guess, when you don't talk.”

“I do talk.”

“Not much,” Dieck teased. “Admittedly, Shin makes you look like a chatterbox, but you and Sue could be siblings.”

Rutger snorted at the absurdity of the idea. “She's a full blooded tribeswoman. If you hadn't noticed, I'm a mongrel who doesn't belong anywhere near real Kutolah warriors.”

For a moment every muscle in Dieck's body seemed to go tight against him. “Is that what the little archer boy said to you?”

The sound of the low growl made Rutger roll his eyes in exasperation, even as his fingers tightened possessively over Dieck's and a strange breed of affection curled down his spine. “No, he didn't. The people who said that sort of thing are dead. You can argue with their ghosts if you like.”

“He said _something_ , though,” Dieck persisted.

“Do you think I'm a coward who can't handle a few words?”

This close, Rutger could hear Dieck's teeth grind together, but Dieck remained silent to the challenge. In some strange way, Rutger almost wished that Dieck would call him out for being a coward and expose him. Otherwise, he might grow used to the easy happiness and acceptance from Dieck. Worse, he might not be able to give it up when he needed to.

“I don't think you should have to handle them,” Dieck managed at last. “And you've been acting different since he arrived. What did he say?”

Rutger leaned back, trying not to see Sister Ellen, the paragon of virtue. “Shin thought I was Bernian. Which is true, so,” the sentence trailed off into the bright autumn sky.

Dieck buried his face in Rutger's shoulder for a minute, likely trying to hide the movements of his expressive mouth. “I don't know what to do with you half the time,” he murmured.

If you had any sense, Rutger thought, you would leave me alone. But that was not happening, and Rutger couldn't bring himself to change it.

“Um, M-Master Rutger?” Sister Ellen called, snapping Rutger out of his reverie. “I think your clothes are dry.”

Rutger sighed, and pushed himself away from the encircling arms. Dieck drifted back, his hands lingering a few breaths longer than necessary, but eventually dropping to his sides. “Oh!”

Rutger turned, to see the larger mercenary dig in his pocket. Dieck brought something out, and held it up to Rutger. It was the thread Rutger had asked for that morning. “Our favorite peddler even had a spool in red.”

Rutger shook his head in wonder, but took the offered gift. “Dieck. If we—Tonight will be just as cold and damp. If you wanted to sleep in my room, I don't mind.”

Dieck closed his hand over Rutger's with an open grin. “I'm going to be wishing for more drafty castles at this rate.”

If Rutger had his sword to hand, he would have nicked Dieck's ear for impudence. Since he did not, all Rutger could do was roll his eyes, and wave the mercenary off, while he went to grab his clothes. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Dieck saunter away, probably to go back and put in more pieces of advice calculated to anger Sir Marcus. Or spread gossip that the deranged Sacaen mercenary was going soft, but Rutger didn't really believe that was Dieck's intent.

As he went to find his sword and kit once more, searching after the small packet of needles and leather working tools, rumor of the decision had already begun to circulate. Rutger found himself a cozy place in what had probably once been the lady of the keep's solar, and sat down to the process of repairing his clothing, without much consideration of tomorrow. Various knightly types ran past the doorway outside, probably trying to organize gear and equipment.

He concentrated on the careful stitches needed to repair his trousers first, given that the need for them was probably the most pressing. At least if Saul had anything to say about it, it was. But he had hardly closed up a thumb-length of the tear when he heard a sniff that distracted him. Glancing around at first, he didn't see anyone, but then the shadows of the wing off the central great room shifted in a person shaped patch.

Rutger struggled to stand, holding onto his blanket firmly. “Lady Sue.”

The lady in question walked into the bright light of the open room, no trace of her quiet smile visible. “Sorry. I thought here,” she took a deep breath. “No one would expect to look for me.”

Rutger had chosen the place because it had the most sun, while not being outside, for almost the exact same reason. “If you like, I never saw you.” He sat down again, reorganizing the sewing in his lap.

Sue did not leave, however. She chose to stand in silence, regarding either Rutger, or the slow process of mending, or perhaps the floor. He did not ask, and she did not volunteer the information. As his stitches took on the curve of the tear, he tried to imagine her reaction to Dieck's ridiculous suggestion that they could have been siblings for the way they talked. Maybe it would make her smile, politely, still holding onto her personal reserve.

In a rustle of cloth, Sue sat down, her knees drawn up to her chest, leaving her eyes to peer out warily at the world. “If you don't mind me asking, Rutger—I mean, it's obvious you don't want to think about it, but—do you know how many of the fighters at Bulgar made it out alive besides you?”

“No,” Rutger looped the thread, trying to get lost in the rhythm of sewing, and knowing that he could not ignore the intent stare. “Not many. They killed everyone who looked like Sacaen warriors. Even if they were just shop keepers. Or children in some neighborhoods.”

Sue made no noise. They sat together in silence. Rutger kept his attention firmly on his work, not even looking up when noises from the rest of the keep reached the sunny room. Sadness seemed to weigh on them.

“Shin said all of the Kutolah warriors were killed,” Sue said quietly.

There seemed to be something momentous in that statement. Rutger wasn't sure what, though, until he thought of his own green haired mother, the only hints of her mountain trader father in her light eyes. “Your blood family with them?”

“I don't know. They were warriors—they would have been targets. My grandfather, at least, was still alive when Shin left,” Sue's voice was thickening with the poorly concealed gulf of loneliness.

“We will be facing Bern again in the spring,” Rutger tried to offer, doubting, even as the words left his mouth that such a promise provided comfort for anyone other than him.

Sue's response was a long drawn out breath. She should have been having this conversation with Shin, Rutger thought. Someone who had known her, and knew whether false hope was better for her or if she responded best to cold realities.

“Some days I wish my father had taught me differently,” Sue murmured. “It is difficult, wanting someone to talk to, and not wanting to talk.”

“You think that your parents are dead?” Rutger asked again, looking up briefly, worried he might have started a flow of tears, but Sue surrounded herself with a personal calm stronger than steel.

Bowstring calloused fingers scraped over the wooden floor. “I didn't see them die.”

More words of hope, but Rutger doubted she really believed the tantalizing promise they held. Now was not a good time to suggest that her parents might have escaped by one of the many flukes of war, and even now were fighting across the Plains as best as they were able. Surely, some Kutolah beyond Shin had survived, though.

“You have Shin to talk to.”

Sue actually giggled. “I used to dunk him in horse troughs when I won races. He tries not to remember that now. But it's not so hard, keeping my thoughts to myself.”

It really wasn't too hard, she had that right. Rutger turned his attention back to sewing a lingering voice tentatively suggesting that he say something reassuring, but nothing wise and reassuring sprang to mind. Just the quiet repetition of thread going into cloth and out again.

At length, Sue stood. “Thank you, for telling me what you knew.”

“It wasn't much,” Rutger looped the thread around his finger, easing the string into a loose knot that tightened as he slipped it closer to the fabric. He should have given her more.

“You were honest with me. That is worth a thousand blessings for you.”

“And a thousand curses for our enemies,” as the familiar answer filled the space where it belonged Rutger froze.

The phrases had no more weight than the exchange of 'thank you' and 'you're welcome.' But it was like feeling a cold spring breeze rushing through his veins, fresh and heavy with promises for young horses and bright grass. He had not heard the greeting for nearly the full turning of the year, and here it was being offered again.

He listened to Sue's footsteps as she headed back to the regular chaos of the army, trying to make his stunned fingers examine the work he had accomplished so far. The new seam in his trousers had no uneven give, and although some of the stitching thread showed when he flipped the cloth right side out, he could certainly live with that. He had done sloppier work on smaller cuts in his shirt from other battles gone wrong. This should hold up nicely.

By the time he had put his trousers on, and started work on his shirt, several members of the army, trying to find a place to laze, had discovered the solar as well. Rutger put up with Wolt's desire to stalk around him like a curious cat. He did try to glare the archer away when Wolt called Thany over to look at the still livid line sliding up his lower back.

“Isn't healing supposed to take care of that kind of thing? Hey, Thany, do you still have a scar in your shoulder, too? I guess Saul's a pretty bad healer.”

“A little bit of a scar. Some wounds can take days to go down, even with magic, though,” Thany grinned, holding up a knowing finger, and trying to sit in a more teacherly pose. “Saul said he was going to make sure that my scar wouldn't last, though. I kinda wanted it to, because you know, you should start collecting good war stories as soon as possible if you're a mercenary. Scars gain respect, even if Brother Saul doesn't think they're very cute.”

“You should probably tell that to Wade,” Rutger suggested mildly, hiding a smirk with intense concentration on his sewing. “I think he'd have fun picturing you as a scarred veteran. Who knows, he might even have an argument with Saul about cuteness.”

It wasn't very nice to do that to Saul, particularly after Saul had been decent enough to lend Rutger his clothes yesterday. However, Rutger had a pretty good idea where Dieck stood on the matter of Saul and Thany in any discussion of cuteness, and Dieck was owed solidarity on that front.

As the sun began to dip into deeper orange, Clarine came in, her face carrying the blotchy look of an unavoided tantrum. “Oh good. Dorothy said she saw you—were you half dressed when Dorothy came by?!”

The circle of lazy armsmen, many of whom were darning stockings, or fixing clothing, had grown at that point. Most everyone had something they needed to get done that couldn't be accomplished on the road, even people like Wolt and Thany, who were giggling about something as they tried to thread needles for their own projects.

Rutger blinked slowly, as he shook out his surcoat, testing the last of his stitching for gaps. He hadn't even seen Dorothy since that morning meeting, where he had been wearing nothing but his bedsheet. He still didn't have his newly repaired shirt on, mostly because he wanted to finish his surcoat before the sun slipped past the horizon.

“Probably,” if he dressed quickly now, there would be time for a late sword practice. The worries of Clarine for the eyes of her pious friend were none of his affair.

“Stop being so indecent!” Clarine's scowl held enough disapproving heat to make him look up. “You should have told me that you didn't have the money to be properly dressed when we were in Aquelia! I don't know how I'm going to find suitable clothes all the way out here! Oh, and if we were in the capitol, I could have found something that fit your coloring so much better than that dreary red!”

Rutger fought down a smile, as he rose, pulling on his shirt. Behind him, he heard Thany snicker around the word “scolding.”

“Well, that's better at least,” Clarine declared, her nose in the air, and the blotches on her cheeks more prominent up close. “Where are you going?”

“Sword practice,” the words might have been muffled by the cloth of the red surcoat as he pulled it on.

Looking down, Rutger felt a little put out that he no longer owned a belt. Much like Saul's robe, the warming practicality of wearing the surcoat would be negated by the fact that the cloth refused to stay close to his body. Clarine, unfortunately, seemed to have keen eyes for that sort of thing.

“Come with me. I have a belt you can wear. As a token. Of your service to me!”

It crossed Rutger's mind that Clarine was Etrurian. Given his conversation with Dieck, Rutger thought he might now understand a little bit of what the world looked like from Clarine's perspective. Perhaps she thought of him as a serf, and was trying to wrap him up in the trappings of vassalage. He should probably point out at some interval that he did not actually belong to her, and even if she had been paying his wage, he never would physically be her property. However, he followed her dutifully out of the solar, grabbing his kit and sword.

The belt was a little longer than he would have liked. By the fourth time he wound it around his waist, the leather had become a serious weight on his mid section. After hanging his sword clip on it, he noted that he still seemed to have whole wyvern lengths of leather left to go.

Clarine tutted as he fixed the buckle behind him. “It goes around at least twice more.”

“As long as I can draw my sword and dodge out of the way without tripping, that is all I need,” Rutger told her firmly. “Perhaps I will be able to find something more reasonable in sashes the next time we visit a market. Now, I must practice.”

He left, even as Clarine lit the room with a smile. Rutger suspected that he probably should not have mentioned shopping. He certainly should not have implied that she would be coming on any shopping excursion with him. Oh well, she was young, and if that made her happy, that was what made her happy.

An ugly thought struck him. He was becoming one of those terrible indulgent older brother types he had rolled his eyes at growing up. Admittedly, this was only because Clarine was doing without her real older brother, but the idea haunted him as he made his way outside, heading for the open ground past the stables as a practice yard.

While limbering up, Rutger pictured the possibility of having to drive off the Sauls of the world from Clarine when she grew a little older. Well, that was unlikely to happen in a war. And even if it did happen, he was under no actual obligation to protect her, other than when it amused him. The ghastly prospect of being attached to anyone by such an invisible and tenuous thread was not as pressing as it could have been.

His sword arced easily into the crescent form, his arm and right leg having no problem with the stretch. But his left leg protested in twinging aches as he turned the sweep of the blade into the natural parry, stepping back to take the imaginary opponent's lunge. Three attack forms ran smoothly through his body, from sword to back to feet. But each natural defense form that accompanied the attacks was weak. Perhaps he would have to rely on his dodging. Though any half trained novice would see that he was favoring his left side. They marched tomorrow. Would that be enough time?

Still, he had a good idea of what he could do with his sword at this point. Putting it on top of his blanket, Rutger closed his eyes, and began to block out movements he would need to rehearse to effectively dodge while his leg was being tricky.

Move as little as possible, he knew. Economy of movement was the sign of a true sword master. His normal technique was sloppier than necessary, involving a lot of quick motions and spins. It was completely excessive, but as long as he was always moving, he was difficult to catch, even if it sapped his reserves of energy far too quickly.

Maybe, though, it was time to change. He should learn to dodge with grace and attack with elegance. It was not too late to change how he attacked and defended.

Something jingled in front of him. Rutger raced for his sword before he opened his eyes, rising into a swift guard. Then he registered Shin's face in the sunset. The archer watched Rutger with critical eyes, looking more statue than human, as he rested next to his horse.

Rutger tried to match blankness for blankness. “Do you use swords?”

“No.”

“Are you watching me because you want to learn, then?”

“You are here,” Shin said, as though that statement alone explained everything.

Rutger bit back a scowl. He did not want to teach. For one thing, teaching involved far too much closeness than he ever wanted to open himself to. For another, he suspected that he did not know nearly enough to be able to teach effectively. “Go watch elsewhere.”

Shin stood silent for several long moments, before finally uncoiling. “You learned how to move like that on the Plains. I see that now.”

Rutger wanted to laugh. His stomach churned. “Does that change anything?”

“For me? Yes. For you? I doubt it.”

It wasn't pity. There was no room for pity in Shin's world. The leather of the sword hilt felt unreal in Rutger's hands. While Shin had been figuring out where Rutger was really from, the granddaughter of his Chief was trying not to cry over the news he had brought her. “Lady Sue,” but the betrayal of the confidences that they had shared died in Rutger's throat. “I saw her this afternoon.”

Rutger watched the hunter nod, and then move past him, leading the horse back to the stables. Did that mean that Shin accepted him? Could it be that Rutger did not want anything from someone who's life he would have once instantly traded his own for? Or maybe, they were all part of a greater army, and he was being foolish, carrying around the old jealousies of a townsman towards a tribesman. Either way, the young mercenary determined, he had to finish his exercises.


	8. The Village on the Western Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to free a village when there are wyvern wings in the air brings keeps bringing back all of Rutger's hidden memories.

They went west. Rutger was hardly surprised.

In daylight, when they had been scouting, the village looked prosperous compared to the others that they had seen, but that wasn't saying much. It rested at the base of several mountains, surrounded by the salty smell of the sea that was not visible until rounding the cliff and walking over rocks. Without a nearby jetty, it was hard to understand how the village made its living—certainly not by fishing, and while Rutger was not familiar with the intricacies of farming, except viewed at a distance, the land had the rocky look of poor farm land.

On the other hand, as they skirted the village in the dark of night, a fortress loomed over the north, holding guard over the mountains. Lott told everyone that the knights of the fort protected the area, and left everything in good repair, even if all the food was imported. Roy just looked guiltily at Lilina for support.

“That's the local base of the military, then? That's Etruria's hand in this part of the world?”

Both the locals shrugged. “We've never had to take any oaths to the Etrurians crown, if that's what you mean. We'll find out more in the village, though. Something might have changed, and well, it's like you said, General. Probably best if we pass by unnoticed until we know what's going on.”

“There is a commotion down there,” Shin observed, peering down the trail. The armsmen had dark lanterns to help lead the horses, but Shin was staring into the night, watching less guarded lights in the village below.

Wade stumped up the trail, trying to piece together the information. “Well, uh, hmm. Does that look like the Morris house, Lott? Think their smithy has caught on fire again?”

“We'd hear fire bells if it was,” Lott shook his head.

Wade frowned, and looked over his shoulder at Dieck. “Hey, Bro, should we investigate?”

“Let's get this army camped and hidden in those trees to the south,” Dieck said curtly, his attention focused on the trail in the uncertain lantern light. “Hey, Allen, where's Marcus and the rest of your horse brigade?”

Rutger wondered what Dieck had seen, but he was already moving to the front of the line, and silence was key to getting past the fort and its uncertain administration. Rutger contented himself with keeping Clarine and Lance's horses on stable ground, edging them along the rocky terrain with the help of Dorothy just behind him, and Bors clanking along just ahead.

By the time they made it to the pebbled flat bowl before the tree thicket, dawn was peeking above the eastern mountain, and the whole army realized that the village was built on top of a rise which they would have to climb over.

Wade sucked in a breath, staring at the jagged cut of the rocks lifting the base of the village walls above their line of sight. “Wow. I'd never really thought about how difficult this ground was.”

“Don't worry,” Thany clapped him on the back. “I can fly these walls, easily.”

“No,” Roy said flatly, glancing around. “You'd be spotted for certain. Etruria only fields mercenary pegasi in full wings of three, correct?”

“Eh. They'll do flights of five, or partnered flights of two for scout runs, but yeah,” Dieck gazed at the pearly sky, his breath misting around him. “A lone pegasus is going to draw questions. Besides, that trail we came down is crumbling away. If we have to get out of here, you'll need to be rescuing pretty much everyone heavier than the little General.”

Wade snickered uncontrollably, and Roy's face went as red as his hair. Lott however, was looking around. “I don't like this. The ground has been cleared pretty far back since we were last home, Boss. They might be having a lot of problems with bandits. There's a bit of repair work started over there,” He jumped a little, pointing vaguely at the village over the tumbled rocks. “They've obviously had people coming around to put holes in walls. Getting in without worrying the townspeople might be hard.”

A thudding sound reached Rutger's ears, and he turned away from the discussion. A group of heavily armed cavaliers swept around a cluster of rocks from the south. The order to halt came in a strangled yell, as they pulled up short. It was that or run over the small army standing thunderstruck in the way.

A paladin managed to get his horse to pace restlessly to the fore of the group, and glared down at Roy. “By what right does this—this _cavalcade_ come onto General Zinc's land?”

“We come on the writ of the Etrurian crown,” Roy stepped forward, gesturing for Lance and the box of seals that he carried. “This is the Lycian Alliance Army. And—”

A cavalier snorted, and someone muttered, not quite low enough to be ignored: “More like the peasant army.”

Dieck and Lott both leaped for Wade's arms not too subtly. The younger axeman scowled as he tried to shrug them off. Under the sounds of the scuffle, Rutger heard Wade mumble. “I'm not stupid, you two. Bro, have _some_ kinda faith in me, will ya?”

But even if Wade had the sense not to take such a comment personally, Lilina had her spell book tight in her arms, and her face was blazing white. Rutger heard the subtle scrape of a sword being unsheathed somewhere behind him.

The horsemen, not being completely oblivious, had noticed the thickening atmosphere as well, however. Rutger watched lances rise and dip, jerking in defensive grips. For all their bluster, these men were worried. What for? They had come across a group of supposed allies, who had suspiciously avoided the hospitality of the fort. In this situation they should have the upper hand. Smug viciousness welled in Rutger, knowing that these men knew something else about their army. Something that made them nervous. Right now, who would break first was the only real question. It was to Roy's advantage to continue the charade and find out as much as possible, but did either side know that?

The lead paladin trotted his horse forward a few more paces. “I had not been told that any army, such as it is, would be coming here. Though,” he peered at the massive circle of wax on its ribbon, “this seems to be the genuine article. Tell me, what investigation brings such a—” cool eyes lit on Rutger, but stopped their roving just over his shoulder as they took in Fir and Shin, “ _diverse_ group to our little islands on the order of the crown?”

Rutger reached for the hilt of his sword. There had been another whiff of fear from these casual troopers at the moment the seal passed inspection, but even if they didn't launch into a fight now, Rutger knew exactly what their leader meant by 'diverse', and wanted the fight to start soon.

“We're on an assignment to assist the military in cleaning up bandits,” Roy began, playing the part of a cool headed leader.

“There are no bandits here. You would know that if you had checked in with General Zinc at the fortress. Anyway, we're expecting an extra scout division with a pegasus wing today. So you can pass on through.”

“We cleaned out a nest of bandits on the northern side of the mountains,” Roy persisted. “But we know some probably got away, so we've been following them for the past few days—”

“Oi!” Lott swung around from his position by the small cliff. “There's soldiers going into the village. It's barely daybreak. What is going on?”

“A routine inspection,” the paladin began, but Wade was suddenly in front of his nervous charger.

Wade just grinned in face of the whickering warhorse. “Yeah? No prince of Fibernia could walk into a man's home without permission around here, and no Etrurians should be able to, either. And you all cantering up from the south? It looks like you're trying to start something.”

Under the shade of his helmet, the paladin scowled, but it was the tap of his heels to the flanks of his horse that signaled the attack, rather than any shout. Hooves drummed into motion, steel hissed from scabbards, and pebbles danced. The army was bunched too closely together. Roy shouted frantic instructions, fumbling with his rapier as the paladin urged his horse to jump Wade's obstruction.

WHUNK. Rutger appreciated the horrendous meaty impact of axe against the charger's unprotected neck. The paladin screamed almost more loudly than his horse, but Wade was coming around for a second hit, which landed in a crash of metal and splintered wood.

With that calm sight of approaching death, Rutger focused his attention on the nearest cavalier, watching the lance line up with his heart as the armored boy rose in his saddle, ready to take the impact. Rutger's sword came up, tossing the lance to the far right. He had a breath to grin at the surprise on the cavalier's face before the horse was upon him, and Rutger rolled to the side, surging up to slash deeply at the saddle girth.

Arrows sailed over his head, thunking into unarmored joints, slamming the cavalier sideways. Rutger didn't bother to wait for the soldier’s beast to trample his former rider. He already had the back of another opponent in sight, Clarine's alarmed shriek giving him direction as he dashed for his target.

The fight was a mess of screaming horses and men at this point. Roy's army had been far too bunched up during the initial charge. Lighter fighters like Rutger had been able to choose their ground by leaping away, but the heavier horse riders and armored knights were stuck between the cavaliers and the short cliff protecting the village. Still, the Lycian Army was ready to take the fight in close quarters.

Rutger dashed past Sir Zealot, just as his charger struck out with the vicious hooves and teeth of a well trained warhorse. Ahead, Lance maintained a clear space around Clarine's back, thrusting aside copies of his namesake with his own spear. The healer, usually so good at urging her pony aside at the last minute, was bent low in her saddle, trying to cast a spell of healing over Roy, and Fir, who looked like entrants in a crimson flower picking contest.

Two cavaliers converged on the group, Rutger on their tail. He couldn't reach the one on the left. But that was why Lance was there. The spears centered on Clarine. Rutger put on a burst of speed, jumping to stay clear of the sharp hooves. He twisted, flipping in the sky's grip. It was like floating as the horseman thundered below him, and then he felt the firm grasp of Mother Earth's love. He plummeted down, slashing at an unguarded neck, forcing his sword through flesh and bone.

Rutger landed just as Lance speared through the second opponent. Hooves thundered on as horses careened away, but other than a few gurgling yells, it was calm again on the battlefield. Rutger turned, looking desperately for a new opponent. But the cavalier troop seemed to be decimated.

Roy pulled himself upright on Lance's stirrup, gripping his side with bloody hands. “Lilina! Take the forces from Ostia, Sue, Shin and Dieck's people to the village. Sister Ellen, you're their designated healer. Everyone else, let's get to that thicket. There's another division coming this way, if that man was correct.”

As the army separated, Fir came forward, her face white from recent blood loss, but the evil slash in her clothes baring her shoulder showed the flushed lines of magically healed skin. “Rutger, that was amazing. You were moving so fast I could barely—”

“When a healer is in danger you have to move fast,” Rutger cut her off, feeling his recent landing still jarring through his knees. The sore ache seemed to be echoed in many of the army's careful movements toward the more favorable ground Roy had indicated.

Atop her pony, Clarine was shaking. Rutger looked back at her, stuck like a statue at the base of one of the tumbled rock rises. He sighed, and turned to walk to her. “The thicket is that way.”

Clarine glared down, a hitch in her breath speaking of damp tears being held at bay. “I know that! You should be asking if I'm alright.”

“Are you?”

“No!”

Rutger put his hand on Clarine's bridle. Normally he would never be so familiar with a pony. But Clarine's little mare was a docile magician's mount from the west, trained to move at all well meaning commands. Lady Sue and Shin's mounts would bite first, but this animal never would think of it. “I didn't think you were, Cl—Lady Clarine. Let's get to cover first, though.”

“You and Lance killed Etrurian soldiers!”

Rutger guided the pony around a corpse, careful to keep Clarine out of sight line of anything that might be twitching. She and Sister Ellen could argue over saving the enemy after the battle was over. “Oh? They never carried banners—”

“Dolt,” Clarine interrupted with a sniffle. “Didn't you see their armor? It's so much better put together and more elegant than any mere mercenary. Uncouth as they were, they were sworn to the crown. Just like my family.”

They probably had been. Rutger led her up the path without comment. It probably was not good to let her stew about being the cause of death of her people, but he could not really muster any good words. As the powerful rush of the short lived fight left him, the late night march, and the sleeplessness of the nights before tried to make themselves known. Given another attack, he could muster his reserves, but not for a conversation with a distraught girl.

As they topped the rise, Clarine's hands tightened on the reins. The pony drew to a halt, skin shivering with activity. “Thank you for saving us,” Clarine muttered to the saddle.

Rutger smiled to himself. “Isn't that my job?”

“Well, of course! But—I'm not going to be ungrateful. Don't assume that all of us nobles are like those curs back there!”

Rutger turned his head away so that he could hide his laugh. It would be better for Clarine to think that he was taking in the scenery.

The walls of the village rose in the north, while to the north east loomed the curtain wall of the fortress a black shape of angles against a duck egg blue sky. Even the mountains had soft faces, lit in pinks and browns. That fortress seemed to want to tear into the morning clouds. Black shapes like massive eagles climbed from the battlements to rip the heavens.

Suddenly, Clarine's pony tensed up, just as Rutger's eyes understood what he was really seeing. A wyvern taking off—and spiraling up from the mountains came a full flight of wyverns, their silhouettes sharp with the war spines of full maturity.

“General Roy!” Someone cried out in a high strangled voice.

“No, they're flying away,” someone else tried to reassure the army. “Anyway, they must be the pegasus flight—”

“Hardly,” Rutger's mouth hurt, and he found his teeth gritted against a bloodthirsty grin. “The legs are all tucked up, and the tails are steering them.”

“But wyverns,” Lance mumbled, his head craned to keep the dwindling shapes in sight. “What would wyverns be doing here? In Etrurian skies?”

“Can't you all guess?” Rutger tried to break his view of the war mounts, but his eyes kept returning to the sudden flame of revenge disappearing into the sun. “Bern has troops here on the Isles. And none of our allies are opposing them.”

His feet began to move to the north, as though he could catch up with a moving flight of wyverns already at least an hour's walk away.

“Mercenary, halt,” Marcus called out.

The proper drill shout of the parade ground should not have been enough to stop Rutger. He promised himself that it wasn't Marcus' order, but his own sense reasserting itself that made him turn back to the army among the trees. They looked like a sorry bunch.

Roy was still panting, though his hand had dropped from the lance wound that he had sustained. It seemed to have been healed fairly well, but if he was having trouble breathing, then he should be off the field in the more permanent injury tent. Lance seemed torn between staying at his lord's side with Allen, or chivvying Clarine closer to the safety of the trees. In said trees, both Wolt and Dorothy were restringing their bows, eyes firmly on the task at hand, and not looking at the small battlefield below. Just past them, Lugh, soot stained and shaking, was holding his fire book in both hands, his eyes riveted northwards as well.

With a spike of surprise, Rutger recognized the calculation in the young mage's eyes. With reluctant feet, he approached Lugh. “Your attack wouldn't reach far enough. Forget it.”

Lugh jumped, and in a bout of nervousness tried to hide his tome. “I wasn't—I mean, I knew that. I guess.”

Roy scowled, biting a blood caked knuckle as he thought. “Listen, I think Chad should keep an eye on how Lilina's part of the army is doing. They have more people, so they should be okay, but once they're finished with the village we have to attack that fort, even if we can't manage to ambush the relief troops that knight talked about, and get answers from them.

“I didn't want to go directly against the Etrurians until we knew what we were getting into, but—If the general there is dealing with Bern, we need to get answers far more than we need subtlety. Everyone in Etruria and Bern may be observing a truce right now, and war hasn't actually been declared, but we all know that's what will happen. For now, though, we wait for those reinforcements. Chad, you know your orders?”

The young boy breathed out theatrically. “Yeah, I guess. Keep track of the main army, and get them to meet up with us once they've driven out the evil soldiers or finished talking with the town residents, right?”

Roy grinned. “Sounds perfect. Don't bug Astol too much.”

Rutger settled into the weak shade under the trees, watching the southern approach with no attention paid to Lugh or his fire tome. Could magic reach across a whole village if a mage was determined enough? While he would have laughed at the idea that his sword work could get exponentially better with sheer determination, his determination not to die had saved his life on more than one occasion. Will power sometimes seemed to take over for tired muscles after hours on the battlefield.

There were spells specifically designed for long distance, weren't there? If Lugh had such a tome, would the wyverns be so much ash now, with their riders?

“You, mage boy,” Clarine had dismounted, and strode toward Lugh. Rutger thought for a moment she was intending on taking Lugh's spot in the thicket. Instead she held out her hand. “You and Lady Lilina practice spell casting in the evenings before bed, don't you?”

“Um, yeah? Have we been disturbing you?”

“No!” Clarine seemed to be going red. Whatever she wanted to say, it must be very interesting. “I just, well, I wish to practice with you two, when this battle is over. It's just another form of magic like healing, isn't it?”

“Well, when you put it that way?” Lugh chuckled, “Um, summoning fire where you want it is, well, I'd think that it would be a lot different from healing people. Isn't healing basically a different kind of light magic?”

“I'm not really sure,” Clarine sagged, as though the world was trying to weigh her down. “I mean, I don't think so. My father has the worst time with light magic, but he's a very accomplished healer. His specialty is anima, you see, and he says the discipline for anima doesn't help at all for light magic, even though it can become a building block for accessing elder magic.”

“Woah! Wait, your dad has tried all three kinds of magic?! But—no one can do that! Every mage is—it takes a whole lifetime to gain mastery of just one magic branch as well as healing!” Lugh's expression spoke of both disbelief and admiration. “Wow. I'd—”

“Lord Roy! Etrurian Scouts!” Wolt screamed from the edge of the thicket.

Gravel crunched under an unmistakably human weight. Rutger rolled to his feet just as Allen and Roy drew their swords. Neither action mattered, as arrows flew through the leaves, striking all around the company.

Clarine dove for her pony, scrambling for her saddle, as the army broke from cover to engage their foe. Rutger counted six bowmen, but no other fighters. Where were those supposed pegasus knights?!

“Klein!”

Rutger had to side step as Clarine's pony bolted past him, headed straight for the leader of the scouts. For a moment both sides froze, watching in horror as a young girl headed straight for a group of men in the act of reloading their bows. All it would take was one man to think that any enemy was a good target—but the squad leader held up his fist in an emphatic gesture.

When he stepped forward to meet the excited healer, there was a general, if confused, relaxing of bowstrings. “Clarine? But—you're safe? Thank goodness!”

Obviously considering himself safely out of earshot of the warily advancing archers, Allen nudged his horse a step closer to Lance. “So those guys aren't going to feather our healer? We can trust them on that point?”

“He's wearing the royal colors,” Roy said quietly, keeping his eyes on the excited healer and surprised bowman. “And if Clarine's reaction is anything to go by, that's her brother, who is a general, isn't he?”

“A much more well groomed general,” Lance agreed soberly. A light round of snickering circled the group, possibly not quietly enough to go unnoticed by the nearby Etrurians. Rutger shot the young knight a surprised look. When had the boy found a sense of humor?

Trying to keep his serious battlefield face, Roy coughed. “Well, better groomed or not, they should obey him, and I would say we have a truce.”

For now, Rutger expected, had gone unspoken. He tried to gauge the reactions in the Etrurian archers. The troop was relaxed, mimicking the amusement of the Lycian side, and reflecting the effortless ease of their young leader.

Out of the corner of Rutger's eye, he saw Wolt trying to pry one of the enemy's spent arrows from the tree. The shaft looked as though it was made of cedar, common enough in Lycia and rampant on the Plains. Some days Bulgar's market had seemed to be entirely wood workers and fletchers each trying to tempt every man and woman with a bow. But in Aquelia, ash covered in a dark stain was preferred. Already Wolt and Dorothy's quivers were bristling with the tinted arrows, because they were cheaper and available.

“Wow,” Dorothy murmured, taking the arrow from Wolt's hand.

Fir, who had an habit of hovering, Rutger was beginning to notice, looked over. “Is it a good weapon?”

“Yes. Very good. We were lucky not to get hit,” Dorothy sighed, looking at the young General. “His bow is great, too. I mean, I'm not surprised. Lady Clarine is used to the finer things, so it's not unexpected that her brother has such a well crafted weapon. I'd like to have something that fine one day.”

Fir tightened her grip on the sheathed sword she had been carrying since she joined the army. A tingle of surprise ran through Rutger at the nervous reaction. So far, Fir had favored an indifferent Sacaen style blade in battle, and Rutger had forgotten that she even carried the other sword. Perhaps it was a memento of a home destroyed by Bern.

“Well,” Fir said slowly, “I would like to say that the kind of weapon doesn't really matter. Even with a bow that fine, they didn't manage to hit a single one of us. And you clipped the scout to fired at you! I saw it.”

“That was just luck,” Dorothy ducked her head. “But, thank you. They are trained by the Etrurian crown, after all, so it's nice that you think I'm possibly as skilled as they are. But I hope we don't have to put it to the test. It would be great if these archers would come over to our side.”

“And explain why one of the Etrurian Generals is dealing with Bern,” Rutger hadn't even realized he said his thoughts aloud until he caught the glances of the company.

“Ah, you saw those wyverns, too,” The little group turned as Zealots lead his horse along the village wall toward the little group. “General, there are bandits loose in the north of the village, as well as soldiers entering homes without permission in the western part of the village. Lady Lilina has everything under control, but we would feel the pinch less for reinforcements, and we have no idea what the situation is in the eastern half. The villagers living by the main road built up their own walls, and it effectively cuts the town in two. Be glad that the north and south gates are open now.”

Roy nodded, but closed his mouth on his orders as Clarine and Klein rode up. “You're Clarine's brother, the Etrurian general?”

“I am. Klein of House Reglay, at your service. And you're the commander of the army I was sent by Lord Arcard to subdue,” in person, General Klein held an air of cool detachment, not at all the excitable presence that Rutger would have expected with Clarine as a measure. Only a slight twitching of his mouth indicated that he felt something amusing about the situation. “There should be no reason for soldiers to invade the homes of the free people in in this village, and I am unsettled by the other contradictions in your mission that Clarine has told me. I propose allying my archers with your men, and springing a trap on General Zinc. He may be willing to talk.”

“I am honored by your confidence, and we will close that trap by then end of the day, but for now, my forces must go to the village. There was supposed to be a pegasus squad joining the battle on Zinc's side, and—”

Horror streaked over Klein's face, breaking the calm for an instant. “That would be Captain Tate. Her flight wing is beholden to my family at this point in time. Please let me explain to her the change in circumstances.”

He was too composed to say 'before she skewers your men, or is shot down herself' but the hand gripping his pale bow tightened to the point where it started to shake. The General seemed to be concerned for the fate of the mercenary captain. Dieck probably would have something sarcastic to say about it, but Rutger stored the information away for later needling, should Dieck's cynicism about noble Etrurian motives be proved correct. At the moment, certainly, his grim predictions were looking accurate.

Rutger noticed Sir Zealot frown in sudden concentration. Perhaps he was surprised by the thoughtfulness of Clarine's brother. Or, given where the pegasus knights came from, he might know this Captain Tate, and be worried about her. It had happened often enough to Rutger, discovering that an enemy outrider from a hunting party was the same person as a jovial traveler who had been in Bulgar for a taste of the big city life, and had entertained Rutger over a drink.

Roy, however, either did not notice these reactions, or they did not matter to the battle plan that he was reworking. “Will the captain be coming up from the south?”

“From the north. I judged the mountains as being good cover for her troops, and if you were allied with bandits, she would probably be able to find your base camp as she helped to surround your forces.”

“General Roy,” Zealot murmured. “I will take him. I should be reporting back to Lady Lilina, in any case.”

“Agreed,” Roy glanced at the squad of archers. “Lord Klein, I think that your archers should remain under cover here, until we finish with the bandits. Close quarters fighting in a town is not ideal for bowmen, and I need a decent number of men to guard the southern approach until we can take the fight to General Zinc. Once we are ready to launch an attack directly on the fortress, we will then have them fresh and ready for the siege that is likely to follow.

“As for the Lycian troops, horsemen in front, get to Lilina as fast as possible. Lance, if you take Fir, she shouldn't slow you down, and Lilina will want her help against brigands. Marcus, you can take Rutger. Those of us on foot will follow as fast as we can. Lugh, you and I need to be on the look out for any forces coming in from the south. If a ground based fighting force gets too close to General Klein's archers, there would be a needless slaughter.”

Klein turned to relay the orders to his men, and the small group rearranged themselves to Roy's directions. Rutger suspect both he and Marcus would have preferred other arrangements. The older knight's dappled gray was used to bearing the weight of full armor and a rider, but complained when Rutger mounted pillion. Leaning forward, Marcus tried to soothe his charger as best he could, but Rutger had never yet met a horse who understood 'it's only for a short time' and he suspected that most horses were wise enough to know that short times could seem long if extra weight was involved.

As for the swordsman, the familiar feeling of self consciousness began to stir. Despite the fact that no one was watching him, Rutger felt eyes on the back of his neck, and his doubts told him that he was going to fall. He told those doubts to jump off a tall cliff. He hadn't fallen off a horse in years, and while he was not the equal of Lady Sue or Shin, or even Clarine, he knew he was at least as capable as Allen on horseback. Just not as practiced.

Though he had to admit, as Marcus urged the horse into a trot, and then dug in his heels, riding a horse, and hanging on while someone else was riding a horse were different things. And as the gait sped up, Rutger also came to the quick understanding that a warhorse was far more exhausting to ride and control than the average trail blazer.

They sped past the outer wall of the village and through the open South gates, Rutger noticed the signs of civilization disrupted. At one corner of the main road the smell of baking bread wafted from a chimney, but none of the sounds of people going about the day, or calling out wares wafted with it. The whole village showed signs of people, but never displayed a single person, and stone walls rose around most houses, shutting off even a promise of hospitality. It was as though spirits inhabited the place instead of men.

Then a wall rose up, blocking the road north forcing the road to turn to the west. Marcus careened around the corner, where stone and emptiness gave way to a square filled with people, many of whom were holding axes with expressions of ill intent on their faces.

Even as Rutger dismounted, a group of the intruders had caught sight of the reinforcements, and charged, axes swinging. Marcus's horse shrieked in pain as a blade lashed his withers. Rutger leaped out of the way of flailing hooves, as Marcus rose in his seat, choosing to use the reach of his lance to create some space around them.

Just behind them, Lance and Fir skidded to a stop, splitting the attention of the mob. Rutger dashed from Marcus' shadow, catching the first bandit who turned toward the younger warriors in a clean sweep of his blade. A flick of the wrist sent the slash jagging to the right, cutting into his foe's armpit in a gush of blood. It was so much simpler to fight people who went unarmored.

Something flashed from the left of his vision. Like a dream, Rutger spun, whirling around a broad headed axe blade to come face to face with the next snarling menace. A swift chop to the man's throat was enough. The bandit didn't even manage to raise the blade in time.

White and red flashed behind him, but he heard Fir's shout 'I have your back!' and promptly turned his attention to the brigands before him, shutting out the meaty sounds of Fir's sword work. The world turned on the edge of his blade, revolving with deceptive slowness. Sometimes a blow moved past his guard, but nothing landed fatally. A slash along his arm, or a cut to the shoulder seemed to mean nothing in the blinding dance of assault, and Fir kept her promise, protecting him with an almost shocking deftness.

Then there was _lightning_. Magic could be bright sparks and tame fires, even when the magician was pouring all of their will into their spell. However, this strike blasted from the cloudless sky to the earth with the fury of an ancient spirit. Heat seared the skin, light shredded vision, and the deafening clap of thunder boomed over the village. Reality tore away in a heart beat of power, and when it returned it felt as though every bell in existence was ringing.

Rutger blinked through streaming eyes to see Lilina hugging a huge monster of a man who was crying over a pile of charred flesh and bone. A few paces away, Wade sat down with a whoosh of air. Fir staggered, and fell into Rutger's side, or perhaps he stumbled backward into her. Exhaustingly, there were no more enemies left to fight.

Lance mouthed something, but over the high ringing, Rutger couldn't really make it out, and from the expressions all around, no one else could either. Eventually, Lance gave up, and turned his horse toward Lilina. Maybe he was checking to see if she was alright, after using so much magic. Rutger tried to bring himself to care, but couldn't. With no other sensible course of action until his hearing returned and sparks stopped floating across his vision, Rutger sat down, and examined the injuries he had taken.

Fir was already hacking at the torn hem of her jacket, pulling off a strip that might have made a decent enough bandage, if you ignored the sprays of foreign blood dotting the once pristine cloth. She offered it to Rutger with a smile, though. He took it, but held the bandage uselessly, until Fir gestured impatiently, and said something that came through the ringing as “…ver th…re.”

Turning blankly, Rutger saw Lott leaning against a building, Sister Ellen on one side, a mousy looking woman on the other, and three men wearing the remains of Etrurian uniforms dead at his feet. Although he was sweating, Sister Ellen did not look worried, so Rutger assumed whatever healing had been needed had worked. Dully, he rose, and drifted over to the group, holding out the bandage.

Lott took it in a blood caked hand revealing a huge circle of inflamed flesh over his stomach. Recent healing or not, it looked horrible under the tattered shadow of the remains of his shirt.

The hollow sound of Rutger's own “That looks bad,” was strange, but Lott just grinned and shrugged.

“Sister … got to it in ti... ...st hurts like the infer... flames.”

The mousey girl wrapped the bandage tightly around the recently healed wound, beginning a remonstration that became clearer with every passing second and held all of the stock phrases about Lott putting himself in too much danger, and she understood why, but at the same time when everything else was so awful, why must he do this? Lott managed to firmly avoid meeting her eyes, but as she finished tying off the bandage, his hand tentatively caressed her fingers.

The hot pain in Rutger's arm suddenly vanished into icy coolness, and he tore his eyes away from what he was becoming certain was supposed to be a private moment, to see Sister Ellen holding out her healing staff. Still, although the glow remained steady, she stared straight past him, surveying the streets of the town, as though trying to count the corpses.

“No one from the village was harmed,” Rutger offered after a moment. They had done that much, at least.

“Mary has a little girl to look after,” Sister Ellen began, and Rutger could not tell if the quiet distance of her voice was his hearing, or the fact that the priestess had removed herself to some distant plane to think about what she was witnessing. “The soldiers from the castle didn't bother to even try to stop the bandits. Some of them even fought us together like old friends. That kind of corruption,” she trailed off pensively.

Rutger wondered why she was so surprised. Her own countrymen had not cared for little girls when they sacked Bulgar. “You've seen a battlefield before. Just because this is a town the results don't change.”

“I know. But we're fighting the army that is supposed to protect these people.”

There were things that he could say about strength and weakness. He doubted that Bern could be all that different from Sacae on that count. From everything Dieck said, Etruria's way of trading service for protection was a mass exploitation of the same principal. But the shaking horror in her voice spoke of a world turned on its head from her perspective. What if, instead of seeing this as an argument between two clans, he saw this as the outriders of a clan returning to kill their fellows, so that they did not have to share in the bounty? The idea chilled him.

Sister Ellen drew in a breath, and then looked up. “Shadows?”

Staring, Rutger realized that there were indeed wide winged shadows speeding over the ground. Wyverns?! But it was the softness of feathers blotting out the sky as he looked up.

“Hoi! Lady Lilina!” in a dizzying swoop, Thany's lean pegasus landed, followed by an older mare with the look of warhorse stock about her. The serious faced girl who rode in her saddle nodded at the troops. Thany dismounted when the large man Lilina had been consoling, started up in shock, and backed away. “Woah! Who's that fella? Um, right! Sir Zealots and, uh, I guess, General Klein said that you all needed help, but it looks as though you're doing all right. This is my sister, Tate. Her pegasus wing is at our disposal and everything.”

“Thany, you shouldn't be so cavalier. Lady Lilina, if you're done here, there were some sorcerers in the eastern part of the village that have General Klein and your forces pinned down. They need the aid of those skilled with dealing with magic.”

Lilina clenched her hands around the few charred pages left in her tome. “I—you're probably the best knights to avoid magic attacks. Everyone I have here are very physical fighters, or out making sure that the villagers know to lock their doors today. Shin and Sue are guarding the gate right now, and I don't want to call them away if the bandits come back.”

Sister Ellen started forward. “I'm not much in a fight, but my magical presence often makes me seem like a great threat, and I can block most of any spell, so if you need someone to draw fire, while the pegasus units circle them, I possibly could help.”

“We still haven't done a full count of the wounded, yet,” Lilina began, but the earth shook for a moment, and she turned green. “That was dark magic! Leave your non-magical healing items with Wade, Sister, and come with me.”

“Gonzales follow?” the large man murmured at her side, in the same way an avalanche is a murmur of snow.

“No! You have to stay here. It's probably not safe for you!” Lilina told him as Ellen handed over her travel bag. “Please help Lott and Wade find the wounded.”

Sister Ellen grabbed a hold of her staff and ran for the nearest street heading east, Lilina on her heels. Thany swung up in the saddle, yelling that they should wait for her, but Tate's flight into the air was more sedate. Hopefully, that would be enough.

Wade was surveying the bloody mess of the square with a scowl on his face. “Hey, Lott, you know where the Captain got to? The Ostian group took the worst of those bandits in the teeth, and I lost track of him then. I saw Treck drag Barth off the field during the fighting, and Noah should be doing the rounds of the south with those thieves, still, but that's Wendy, Bors, Oujay, and our Bro unaccounted for.”

Fir stood shakily. “Where did you last see them? We can search from there.”

“By the north gate. Here, let me—”

“No, because if you go with one of the search parties, then we'll have a harder time finding you and the healing supplies. Rutger, Lance, Allen and I are uninjured. We'll go look for them, and bring them to you. Does that make sense to everyone?” Fir looked around.

Rutger shrugged. Given the armor the Ostian knights wore, if they were badly injured not even Lance and Allen's horses could easily bring them down the uneven streets, but the riders could go for help quickly in the worst case scenario.

Fir smiled happily. “Great! Rutger, I guess we should stay together so as not to slow anyone down—”

“That's not a very good idea,” Lance interrupted. “The streets around here are narrow close to the gate. It would be a good idea for us to split up into teams of one afoot and one ahorse to cover the ground properly, and carry any injured people to safety.”

“Oh,” Fir looked crestfallen.

“It was a good idea, though,” Allen said brightly, before surveying the two Sacaens. “Want to draw straws for the person who gets to work with lady Fir?”

Fir giggled, but she was closer to Lance, and walked over to him. “Thanks, Sir Allen, that's sweet. But Sir Lance's fighting style is more similar to my own, so if we get attacked by any surprise enemy, we probably won't get in each other's way.”

“Hey!” Allen called after her. “Who's to say we'd get in each other's way?”

“She has a point. You tend to charge enemies, and I'm used to jumping out of a mounted soldier's way—probably more than Fir is,” Rutger commented dryly as he maneuvered around a sticky puddle forming where the cobbles of the main road wore away into dirt, gravel, and now mud.

Allen sighed loudly, proof enough to Rutger that his hearing had returned to normal. “Well, I guess you being rude is better than you being—unnerving.”

“It is not rudeness. My career has often pitted me against mounted troops. Fir does not seem to have been put in the same situations, and she doesn't seem to have trained as long as I have.”

“I thought you did not like the way I attack.”

“It's your style of fighting, and it hasn't killed you yet,” Rutger peered down an alleyway.

Allen left him to the task, trotting to the other side of the street for a moment, before returning. “I guess I'm just surprised that you're not telling me to try a different fighting style, I suppose. I know both Lance and Marcus think that I waste too much energy.”

Rutger shrugged. How Allen trained was not really his concern. Perhaps he should have requested Fir accompany him anyway, hang common sense.

Ahead, the figures of Fir and Lance turned to the right down a side street. Rutger nodded to the left, “We should go this wa—”

As they reached the crossroads, however, it was as though a drum of beets had exploded all over the area, leaving nothing but red splatters on the walls, and unidentifiable globby bits in the road. Rutger swallowed, seeing a splash half way up the wall of someone's home, complete with smoke issuing from the chimney. The creeping horror of the familiar that had doused the priestess' words earlier washed over him in a frozen wave.

“Rutger?”

Allen's echoing voice managed to reach some part of his spirit that wasn't drowning, and he latched on to the fact that he had a task to fulfill and people watching. He couldn't break because of this village's eerie emptiness and the desecration of people's homes.

Resolutely, he began walking down the street, hoping that Allen would not try to force him to talk. Perversely, though, he wanted an excuse to shout. All Allen had to do was give him that opening. Rutger cut off that line of thought. It was unworthy, and just because things were coiling up inside of him did not mean—

“Sir Allen?” Oujay poked his head out of an alley behind Rutger. “Oh, good, we've got a bit of a problem here.”

“You're not injured?” Allen asked.

Swinging around to look at him critically, Rutger did not see anyone else in the vicinity. Surely the Ostian mercenary knights never deserted each other in battle. And they had been sent out here with Dieck and Lady Sue. “Is anyone else with you?”

“Yes. Dieck and I held this street for Wendy and Bors, after their lances were smashed. But Dieck got cut, and then, well, this stranger showed up,” Oujay's voice dropped, as Rutger and Allen came close enough to peer into the alley, where Dieck sat holding out an arm for bandages.

Another of the townsmen, looking drawn and pale, though that could be due to his natural complexion, worked quietly at tying off an already bloody bandage. Rutger suddenly wished that he had held onto the bandage Fir had made, instead of donating it to the cause of protecting recently healed flesh from tearing.

Allen dismounted. “Hallo. Are you going to need a vulnerary Captain Dieck?”

Dieck looked up, and a wry grin crossed his face. “Well, if you two are the cavalry, things must be desperate. I'm alright. I used my own on the wound before we started wrapping me up. Most of the blood isn't so much from me as on me.”

“Well, if you're finished playing half-rate self-healer,” Rutger found himself drawling, “we should get you back to the rest. Thank you,” he nodded shortly at the blond, who was rising now, and looked in deep need of at least a good night of sleep, if not a healer for himself. Still, Rutger was hardly one to talk.

“It was nothing.”

“You should come with us,” Dieck addressed the man familiarly, giving his fingers a friendly squeeze of thanks. “Allen, Rutger, this is Elphin. He's a bard of sorts.”

Rutger tried to see if that designation meant anything to either Oujay or Allen, but they just shrugged their acceptance. Allen did not even seem to see the strange wording as important, peering instead into the alley beyond, and then glancing back to the street. “Are there any other wounded people around here? We're supposed to be making sure everyone's safe. Lord Roy would care just as much for the civilians, and maybe the brigands, so—”

Rutger snorted. “We can extend the mercy of the victors when we are actually victorious.”

He saw Allen's eyes narrow. “Some of us want to see battles without casualties, mercenary.”

“The rest of us don't want to be killed by your lord's indolence,” Rutger tried to stop the words, but they were piling up. “The townspeople need protection. Going into winter, they've just had their town turned into a battlefield, and the person who rules here is corrupt. But you're suggesting rounding up injured brigands and the soldiers who started this massacre in the first place? Have you forgotten that they would clap you in irons and have you quartered before dawn? Or that they're allied with _Bern_ —”

“Lady Lilina's orders were to do a full count of the wounded. She didn't say the army's wounded, and I know she wouldn't _mean_ just the army's wounded,” Allen began.

A hand fell on Rutger's shoulder, pushing down with quite a lot of force. “Thanks for helping me up,” Dieck's voice had all the softness of a wool wrapped sword. “Sir Allen, I think I really need to get to the healers. Will you mind if I take Rutger along as my crutch? Oujay could help you in his stead.”

“What a good idea,” Elphin's voice had a melodious quality to it, though whether this was natural, or the man was trying to charm away the group's tension, it was hard to say. “I will join you in your search, Sir Allen. Your lord sounds like an interesting man, if he is willing to help the enemy on the field like this. I would love to learn more.”

It was almost a dance, watching the mercenary and the bard operate. They even carefully maneuvered Rutger and Allen in opposite directions, bringing them through to the streets so that they could only argue if they wanted to shout through a row of huts. Rutger did not even have the energy to complain about the treatment, though he did scowl when Dieck leaned on him too heavily.

“Did you have rocks for breakfast?”

“Well, I accepted some of Saul's corn buns during the march,” the mercenary replied, guiding Rutger toward a building that looked like the town leather worker’s, if the sign in the shape of a saddle was anything to go by.

“Are we stopping to buy a new wrap for your sword hilt?” Rutger began, not impressed as Dieck came to a stop in the doorway. “We should be headed in the other direction, you realize.”

“It's my first time in town. And if you're helping to round up the wounded, the battle must be half way to a siege by now. We can take our time,” Dieck reasoned, reaching out for Rutger. “Which we probably should. You look like you're about to keel over.”

The sky above was the same watery blue of the early morning, but the sun had managed to travel almost to the zenith of its journey. Still, they had some time. Enough that the mandated rest from the injured man would not make them late for the final battle. Rutger glanced back at the town, homes rising peacefully from the earth all around them, their chalky exteriors like drifts of ice in a snowfield.

“Y'know,” Dieck began slowly, “it's hard to tell with you, and you have just been fighting, but you do look wrung out and exhausted. Are you alright? It must be tough, marching half the night after only getting a pinch of sleep the two nights before.”

A chill swept over Rutger. Dieck knew about the nightmares. And he chose now to mention it? But—if he knew, even if he was just guessing, then—Could Rutger finally say something?

There was a chance that this was an elaborate hoax. What if Dieck didn't know? What if he was talking about something unrelated, or just fishing for a weakness? Still, the tantalizing possibility that Rutger could voice some of the thoughts that had been building in his head since he entered this town hung before him. Maybe even some of the ones that had been building since Ostia.

“I have been having trouble sleeping,” he began tentatively.

Dieck nodded. “Sorry, I couldn't help noticing. You got this habit of starting bolt upright and then going back to sleep. It's a little violent if I'm in the wrong position. I wasn't sure you knew about it. So, how long has this been happening?”

“Since Ostia,” Rutger breathed out. “No. Before that. I was getting nightmares all spring, but I thought they had stopped when I joined this army. Then you killed that bastard, and I couldn't extract any vengeance for the rest of the summer, and now,” he trailed off, wishing that he was running through a difficult parry exercise, or something demanding and physical. “I see them dying, and I can't save them because the soldiers think I'm a citizen of Bern, and are leaving me alive just to watch everyone else.”

Silence settled between them. Rutger was surprised that it did not hurt to say these things. They weren't what he wanted to say. He wanted to talk about the anger he felt that this was a battlefield, about the fury that churned when he thought about rescuing enemies who did this to a town full of people who could not move away or fight back. But the long past was spilling out of him instead. Spilling out not in the way he wanted it to arrive in the world, but messy and disjointed and too personal. It was almost easy this way.

Dieck whistled after a long pause. “So, they killed people just for looking like Sacaens. And spared you because you could have been their neighbor back home. But your family looks like they're from Sacae?”

“Yes. As much as anyone else from Bulgar. Both my parents were half clansmen, half Bernian—it's common in the city. There are tons of foreigners. But it's rare for mountain features like mine to pop up in a mixed union. The man you killed thought green hair and gold skin was enough of a separation of plainsmen and outsiders. And the people from outside the plains would come to their senses once they saw how clean the city could be made,” Rutger had been amazed how steady his voice was. Normally, even thinking about it made him shake, but now he was saying it without a hint of constriction. But suddenly his air vanished, and breath became almost impossible.

“I can't sleep—I remember everything that happened. Everyone said—no one believed we would actually be attacked, much less overrun. All those people. Friends, neighbors, even strangers who treated me well despite—despite my face. I need vengeance for their spirits—I need it for,” his throat closed around 'myself.' But selfish as it was, he had accepted the selfishness. Being selfish was far better than having given up when faced weaponless with better armed, better trained soldiers. “I can't stop dreaming about how desolate—my—the city. They made the city barren.”

Dieck stirred. “I knew from you and pretty much everyone the attack on Bulgar was bad. I hadn't realized how sick it was. And it happened right in front of you?”

Rutger caught the gentleness in his voice. It was the audible form of Dieck's hands encircling Rutger's waist, or tucking back his hair, or lifting Rutger's chin for a kiss. For a moment the sheer familiarity and kindness ate into Rutger like poison, trying to weaken his resolve to carry out his vengeance for the dead. Rutger nearly spat. “I don't need your sympathy.”

“No. You don't,” Dieck tried to smile. “But for what it's worth, if you need a strong sword to support you while fighting every last army officer, spearman, and wyvern rider in Bern, you've got mine.”

Rutger knew it was coming. He had seen the gesture of loyalty in the curve of Dieck's lips, and knew Dieck for an honorable mercenary. The effect of the words, though, drove the breath from Rutger. Struggling not to encourage this lunacy, though, Rutger at last managed to say: “It's your choice.”

Dieck nodded beginning to step out of the doorway. “It is. Well, we could start to mosey back to the war,” he stretched, grimacing. “Or at least back to the healers. Unless you're still tired.”

Rutger checked the position of the sun again, mostly as a pretext to avoid Dieck's easy acceptance. The conversation had left him light, but drawn out. “We still have some time.”

Dieck grinned, retreating back to his doorway, and pulling Rutger with him. “I suppose we're not needed just yet. I need time to recuperate, too. Also, I'd like your opinion on that bard.”

The change of topic, while expected, had not been the topic Rutger was expecting. “Bard? He seemed kind enough.”

“Mm. Pretty, too,” Dieck agreed idly. “Tall enough to have been fed very well, all that noble Etrurian hair, and a lovely set of royal blue eyes. I honestly didn't expect callouses from actually playing the harp on his hands, but he had them.”

Rutger frowned. One of those statements did not follow on the other. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Dieck took Rutger's hand, rubbing at one of the hard lines of skin below the knuckle joint. “Being a bard is a very honorable position on the Isles. They keep the history, the bloodlines, and all the news and rumors in their heads. They know the Princes' law, and get to be very powerful members of a noble's household, sometimes even wandering around in search of tales to tell. You know, things like troop movements. Stories like that.”

“You think that Elphin is a spy?”

“Well, the soldiers were very interested in a blond singer when they were barging into people's homes,” Dieck replied. “But you heard him talk. If he's from the Isles, I'm a dragon. That's Etrurian high court pronunciation as drilled by Eliminean monks. Now, why would a foreigner be accepted as a bard in any noble house on these wet rocks?”

“He could be running from something,” Rutger supposed. Deep intrigue was not ever going to be one of his common hobbies. Still, his hand went to his sword hilt, and he caressed it thoughtfully. “Do you think he would betray us to that general in the fort over there?”

Dieck grabbed for the hand again, pulling him closer, chuckling. “You keep on solving unknown problems with your sword and the world is going to be a cold and lonely place. I'm just saying we should warn the lords about him, if he's really that interested in Roy's desire for bloodless battle.”

They should be getting back, then, if that was the case. They should be. Instead Rutger allowed Dieck to draw him into the closeness of an embrace. The fighting had not left Dieck in a state of roses, and Rutger was likely as covered in blood. He should point out that there was a battle still in progress, and afterward, if there was any mercy in the world, the fort would have bathtubs.

“Most of this blood is from other people?” Rutger inquired, running a finger along the curve of Dieck's jaw.

“Most of it,” Dieck agreed, his hands bunching in the folds of Rutger's surcoat when Rutger bit down on his throat. “Hey! So you want to add some of my own blood to it, or what?”

Leaning back, confident in Dieck's arms, Rutger approved of the new indentation. It wouldn't last for long, but it was there now. “So, you think the strange bard is pretty?”

Dieck's astonished stare dissolved into a helpless chuckle. He pulled himself together with great effort, trying to fix Rutger with a knowing glance. “I think lots of people are pretty. Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“I thought Sacaens weren't supposed to lie.”

As Dieck continued to chortle in inescapable bursts, Rutger felt something warm uncoil in his stomach. They had other things to do, and he would enjoy fighting beside Dieck later, but Rutger really wished he could bask in the small admission that he had been offered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious this chapter contained another reworked support conversation, based on this translation by Firelizard of Rutger and Dieck's third support:
> 
> Dieck : "Rutgar, you all right? You don't look well."  
> Rutgar: "...I'm having trouble sleeping."  
> Dieck : "Is it about the leader of the Bulgar attack you saw the other day?"  
> Rutgar: "...No. Well...maybe. Even after I see him dead, my nightmares still persist. At that attack... They left only me alive... The reason was because I...didn't look like a Sacae native."  
> Dieck : "Tough to kill someone with the same colored skin. But you do have Sacaean blood in you, don't you?"  
> Rutgar: "Yes. My father's mother and my mother's father were Sacaean. Bulgar is near Bern's border, so there are a lot of mixed people there. But usually the Sacaean side is stronger in mixed childrens' appearanaces. But I... Only in me did the Bern side come out more, so I was kept alive... The people of Bulgar...they were kind to me, even though I looked different... But they...they were killed, so brutally! I must destroy Bern...! That one man isn't enough to satisfy my revenge..."  
> Dieck : "...I thought you had some kind of burden, but now I see it clearly... Well, guess I'll go along with you."  
> Rutgar: "I have no need for sympathy!"  
> Dieck : "Come on, you know how strong I am, right? If you really want to take on Bern, then there's no better ally than me. What do you say?"  
> Rutgar: "...Suit yourself."  
> Dieck : "And so I will. Well then, let's go, partner!" *Dieck leaves*  
> Rutgar: "Dieck... I'm sorry."
> 
> Rutger's apology is very important to the whole way they interact-Rutger trying to keep Dieck at arm's length, being terrible at showing deep emotion and completely at a loss when it comes to responding to compassion, but wanting to do the right thing, even if he has to let people go first-and it got left out of this chapter, mostly because they're still hanging around each other in this version. But also because I put that apology in another place in this fic. Stay tuned.


	9. Taking the Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to breathe and come to terms with having told the truth.

Now that the sun was falling in the sky, it seemed to have decided to make up for the cool beginning of the day by blazing, as though sheer will alone could overtake the dawn. Or perhaps the sun realized that the battle was over, and thus could shine more brightly for it.

The forecourt of the fortress was a milling mass of _people_. Rutger eyed the number of bodies present with distaste from the sidelines. Prisoners—some soldiers had managed to survive the day. Not so the bandits. Rutger had a sneaking suspicion that the townspeople had something to do with that last fact—were being herded into the cells. The new accommodations were dank and hidden at the very back where the fortress cut into the mountain. Rutger thought that it was too kind a fate, even so, but then he had seen the expressions on the faces of the town's delegation. The provost was probably the closest thing to someone in charge that the area held now, and he and his wife were clearly looking forward to passing judgment.

Dieck had been right. Bards were very important here. Elphin had arrived at the gates just after Zinc's defeat, along with the town delegation, and now sat in the shade of the west wall, quietly tuning a stringed instrument. He should have attracted no more attention than Dorothy oiling her bow within whacking distance of Saul's little healing station. But the Islanders who could not fit in the circle around Roy kept drifting over to the musician, before drifting back, and taking up the conversation with the young General in the place of another worthy who needed some bardic consultation.

Did the stranger know that this attention was not going unnoticed? Rutger would bet that Elphin knew he was being watched. For one thing, Oujay was trying to imitate Rutger's casual sword cleaning, and completely failing at the casual part of it, as every time Elphin murmured something, his eyes shot up from his work, and narrowed on the bard. For another, Allen, who had apparently been told the suspicions that Dieck and Oujay had formed, was not even trying to be subtle, and actively stared at Elphin, frowning thoughtfully.

The little group was so obvious that Rutger was surprised how much time passed before someone said: “What are you all staring at?”

Fir leaned over Allen's shoulder, as though by getting closer to the group she could read their minds. The threat of that worked well enough on Oujay, who started upright with a guilty expression. “Ah! Um. We just—well, it's surprising to see? Minstrels are valued in Lycia, but not quite like this. Fir, you're from the Western Isles, right? Why is everyone going to talk with him?”

The girl laughed. “Where did you hear that? I think my father is a native Islander, but I'm not really from here. We were in Sacae for a while with my mother's brother when she first fell ill, and we had to stay on the Plains until she died, and, well, I think being settled down reminds my father of that time, so he likes to keep on the move. You know, it's funny, Oujay, you're the first person who hasn't assumed I'm Sacaen. Even Shin and Sue thought I was.”

“Well, Sir Noah kinda told me something about you and being from the Islands last night on the trail. I guess I just remembered it wrong,” Oujay shrugged. “I don't know if I'd thought about it much, though. Your sword style is pretty Sacaen, and so is the way you dress.”

Fir giggled. “Rutger doesn't think so. Do you?”

“You look like any other town girl. Just not a tribesman,” Rutger replied reluctantly, not sure if he wanted to get drawn in to this discussion.

Did all this mean that she had not been in Sacae when Bern invaded? That was rich. Here he had been thinking that she was a wanderer without a family, or any people to call her own. They really had nothing in common. Even the way she approached her sword work was different. Still, she had kept him alive and uninjured today. “And even if your attack style is _showy_ , thank you for today.”

The effect of his words had on her was like sunlight on the distant sea. Fir shone, her eyes sparkled, and Rutger wondered if this kind of reaction to compliments was common in all girls of a certain age. Clarine lit up just as brightly, though far more loudly.

Although, Fir certainly had plenty to say, as well. “It was nothing. It was wonderful fighting with you. You're so easy to match steps with, and yet, I'd swear you hadn't even noticed me a moment before. Such awareness is inspiring.”

Such awareness had Dieck calling him a focused death mill. A battle was not a game. There should be no prize beyond staying alive. Rutger glared, but Fir was impervious. Maybe she had been spending too much time around Thany?

“I would love to match swords—”

“Ah!” Allen suddenly barged between them. “Fir, I've been hoping we could have a rematch? Everyone's been telling me I've been charging too much and it leaves me and everyone around me open, and I'd like to try giving it my all against someone swift and skillful like you. Hopefully I can learn to compensate. Or at least we can learn to fight better together.”

With that, the awkward staring contest with the strange bard was truly broken, as Oujay wanted to know if he could be of any service. Dieck had been beating him during morning sparring a lot and it would be good to know if Captain Dieck was just much better than he was, or if he was really that bad.

Rutger wanted to roll his eyes. Of course Dieck was better. Every movement the mercenary made proclaimed his skill, and the power in those broad shoulders was evident. It was why Rutger had begun pressing Dieck into sparring after all.

He critically inspected where the hilt of his sword and the blade joined, seeking any left over blood flecks. They always got caught around that point, and besides, if the little company of suspicious soldiers was distracted, it was up to him to casually pay attention to the probable spy encamped in the army's midst.

At the moment, the spy was having a quiet word in Merlinus' ear. Said word seemed to encompass the total attention of the townspeople, while General Roy and Lilina remained engaged with what looked like retainers of some kind from the fort. Elphin nodded at something Merlinus said, and the blue eyes flashed around the courtyard, weighing that rapt audience.

Slim fingers descended to the strings, pulling out an idle tune like a lazy brook running through the summer heat. As the tempo changed to a lighter, more lively song, Rutger almost found himself suggesting to Oujay that they practice together, if Fir and Allen were occupied. He only managed to stop himself as the young woman who had been helped in the village square that morning whirled past with a laughing little girl in her arms. Everyone was smiling or suddenly looking satisfied with how things had turned out. The subtle shift in tone Rutger laid squarely on the bard's little tune.

Disquieted by the change in the mood, Rutger rose, intending to find somewhere a little less hypnotic. However, Dieck and Tate were approaching, engaged in discussion.

Tate's reserve seemed to have melted just a little, for she laughed, shaking her head. “That's just like her. Still, no matter the company there will always be one or two like that. Some people are drawn to small company mercenary work because they do not work well in a larger strictly controlled company.”

“I know exactly what you mean” the look Dieck shot Rutger was so full of amusement that Rutger considered turning around right then and volunteering for Fir's informal practice session. “I've got two of those people in my company right now, less luck for me. But why not bring your people along? This war isn't really about Etruria, and we'll need the help against Bern's wyverns.”

Tate shook her head. “I can't ask them to ruin their professional reputations. General Klein was kind enough to break our contract, and has promised letters of recommendation, but for the group to join against the crown that employed them not three hours ago would be a disaster.

“And, like it or not, Ilia, or at least most of the major towns and companies, are in Bern's hands. We've gotten reports that the trade routes from Bulgar are being well patrolled and supplies are reaching the isolated areas. Other reports about what is happening as Bernian lords take over the land are less good, but I think I can see the Bernian strategy. For a large portion of an Ilian company to declare war upon Bern as we head into winter would cut off all supplies to our families. After fighting on our home territory last winter there are no reserves left. All the people of the wastes would starve.

“I can't ask my soldiers to potentially make a sacrifice of their families if I would not be making the same sacrifice. And since Thany is here, and our older sister is in the far Eastern capital the enemy does not yet control,” Tate shrugged. “Enough is going on at home. I will join this army as any other volunteer, and leave my wing to return to where they belong and get money as they are able.”

“Sound reasoning to me,” Dieck agreed reluctantly. “Though, you should have someone to look out for your interests, if you are joining up as a lone mercenary.”

Rutger almost smiled. Did Dieck believe that he was looking out for Rutger's interests, by trying to recruit others to the army? Tate did smile, though probably for reasons of her own. “I have looked out for myself before. Besides, General Klein has always—I do not believe that his judgment is wrong in this.”

Rutger had the opportunity to behold Dieck struggling with both what he was about to say, and some conflicting emotions. As the mercenary's jaw worked tightly, Tate was taking in the sight of the light sparring with a slight frown on her face. “And there's another knight with impulsiveness to match my sister. How many of the people in this army are familiar with fighting as a full unit?”

Dieck drew himself out of whatever conflicted feelings he had about Etrurian nobility, and counted the troops. “You included? I would say about eight. A few others like Rutger here try hard to be professional, though.”

Tate gave Rutger a cursory glance. “Being independent is a useful thing in a swordsman. The problem is when spearmen think they're sword masters. If you'll excuse me, Captain Dieck, I think I need to discover who organizes the training for the knights.”

“That would be Sir Marcus, and I know Sir Barth has his own knights on an additional training schedule. He was fairly badly injured this morning, though. You should probably ask Dame Wendy about it.” Dieck pointed out the no longer startlingly pink figure across the courtyard sitting outside the healer's tent, earnestly working at polishing her armor.

Tate nodded her thank you, and strode across the courtyard, breaking through several knots of townspeople clustered in enchanted groups of listeners around Elphin. Rutger took the opportunity of Tate's absence to get close enough to run a curious finger down Dieck's throat. He hoped, a little vainly, to feel the impression of his teeth, but only the normal light stubble greeted him, and by Dieck's growing grin, there was nothing left of Rutger's claim.

“Sister Ellen waved away all my injuries before Lilina blasted Zinc, remember?” Dieck raised his formerly bandaged arm to grasp Rutger's wrist, casually halting the exploring fingers. “Did that ruin your day?”

“No,” Rutger caught Dieck's gaze without shame. “I hope you'll let me fix it later. Why have you been trying to recruit other people? Wouldn't half a wing of pegasus knights have meant a split in any bonus pay?”

Dieck chuckled. “Since when have you really cared about money?”

“I don't, but you do, so it makes me curious when I see you endangering that money.”

Down by the healer's tent, Clarine emerged, engaged in loud and animated conversation with Lilina. The noise around them swelled for a moment in reaction, but dipped as Clarine gestured peremptorily in the direction of Roy's little group, which included Klein's blond head. Probably she was trying to introduce her brother to every person in the army personally, and was working her way down the list of important people. Oddly, Dieck jumped a little as Klein excused himself from the circle of town and fort worthies with a bow, and the captain's expression became flavored with unreadable undertones.

“You know I'm right about wanting aerial troops to deal with wyverns. Say,” Dieck's sudden casual arm around Rutger's shoulders, guiding him towards the shadows of the gate was probably going to be about as subtle as the looming conversation switch. “Elphin actually knows how to play, huh?”

“He knows how to read his audience, certainly,” Rutger allowed himself to be steered toward the open archway.

A breeze had picked up, cold with autumn's promises of winter as it rattled the hanging bars of the bottom of the portcullis, gusting down to blow through the forecourt with abandon. It was refreshing to feel the salt laden air on his face, and even better to be moderately sheltered from it by the stones of the protective wall.

“You don't need to be thinking ahead to Bern. Leave that to the little general,” Rutger paused, thinking about Klein's title, and reflected on relative height for a moment. No, Klein probably was taller than he was, and certainly taller than Roy, but in an army that boasted men like Dieck and Barth, as well as women like Wendy, 'tall general' would not do for Klein. “And our newer general, too I suppose.”

“Newer general. What a terrible name,” Dieck shook his head. “Why not say blonder general or the Etrurian one or something?”

“You might think I meant Clarine.”

“Hmm, General Clarine. Now that has a terrifying thought or two attached to it. Do you know how many people would have to die for her to get promoted that far?” Dieck grinned, fixing Rutger with a long stare. “You could at least crack a smile or something. It's so hard to tell if I'm actually being funny when you're wearing your murder eyes.”

“What?” One day, Rutger vowed, he was going to find a looking glass and discover what this expression Dieck claimed he wore actually looked like.

Carefully, Dieck reached over to run his thumb just under Rutger's eyelid. “Your exhausted 'I'll kill you where you stand' face. You know, sleep's also part of keeping you in one piece while fighting Bern.”

“That's not your concern,” Rutger muttered, glad that it was foolish to try to fight Dieck on this, but continuing to do so because better sense should not have an easy victory.

“I said I'm helping you get your revenge, didn't I? That makes it my concern. Besides, beating you when we spar shouldn't happen because you're half gone from fatigue. It should happen because I'm better than you are.”

Rutger growled to cover a wry smile, and shoved the mercenary captain against the shadowed stones. He was completely unsurprised by the counter attack of a kiss. He doubted that they were ever more predictable to each other when he wrapped his arms around the strong neck and shoulders, digging in his nails, and pulled Dieck even lower by biting down on the taunting lower lip. The taste was cleaner than this morning, without the lingering harshness of the hard soap the healers distributed after a battle.

When they fell apart, Rutger licked his lips. “Too bad for your pride, but sleep is one thing completely out of my control.”

Dieck tutted. “Yeah, and given the state of this fort, we're likely to get put in the recently vacated barracks tonight. Enjoy getting some shut eye with the snoring and everyone needing to get up at least once to raid the kitchen.”

“Well, it's better than sleeping rough. The amenities of civilization will hopefully include fires that can't be put out by a little rain. Speaking of civilization, you really are cleaned up. Did you find a bathhouse hidden in that village?”

“Visited the fort's bathing pool on accident while we were rounding up the servants, and I thought why not? The water was only going to get colder and scuzzier if I waited for the rest of the army to come in.”

It was a beautiful day. The wind sang, the rocks shone, the salt tingled Rutger's senses. “A full bathing pool? Really? With drains and steam rocks and good soap?”

Dieck cocked his head to one side. “Um? I wasn't asking questions. Soap's easier on the skin than the stuff Sister Ellen hands around. I can't say I found the results any different than a cold wash in a stream bed, though.”

That kind of comment would have had Rutger's mother muttering 'barbarian' under her breath. Rutger managed to curb that instinct, and merely shook his head. “I haven't been in a bathhouse since Araphen, and haven't even seen a decent one since Bulgar. I'll take what the fortress has to offer and be thankful.”

“You're a snob,” Dieck said, covering his mouth against obvious laughter. “You could give Clarine a run for her money. Hellfires, I don't think I've seen Sue get that picky about her bath houses, and she's lived the cushy lady life for a Sacaen, right?”

At the idea of Lady Sue living a life similar to Clarine's expectations, Rutger also wanted to laugh. “Lady Sue is not one of your Etrurian dolls. But she is a tribeswoman. I would guess she's of a like mind with you in favor of cold brooks. In Bulgar we might not be one tribe, but there are some advantages to city life. Hot wash water and a good steam being among them.”

Rutger was not sure that he should have used the common phrasing for noble ladies, as Dieck's eyebrows went up like a shot, and he grinned. Knowing Rutger's luck, it was another one of Etruria's vast and cultured euphemisms for prostitute, which was not what he wanted to say. Still, None of the Etrurian women Rutger had met so far were very doll like, and none of them were like Lady Sue, so, it was probably a safe turn of phrase.

Before any learned exchanging of ribald language could ensue, the person most likely to be entirely outraged at the idea called for Rutger at the top of her lungs. Rutger looked over his shoulder to see Clarine looking around in a perplexed manner, while at her side, her older brother was absorbed in the now quiet music, a slight frown on his face.

Rutger sighed. “Ah. I must rate more highly in the hierarchy than I expected. She couldn't have had time to introduce him to too many others.”

Dieck stepped back a bit, cracking out his knuckles. “Well, I probably don't rate that high. But speaking of Lady Sue, she and Shin haven't returned from their perimeter patrol of the village. I'm going to grab Thany and then mosey along and find them. You enjoy our little healer's undivided attention,” Dieck broke off, staring over Rutger's shoulder pensively.

Rutger waited for whatever thoughts were moving behind Dieck's face to surface, but Clarine called again. “If you want to say something—”

Dieck shook his head with a lopsided smile. “Just remember, Klein's a general, and nice as the boy is, once we get back to the mainland, he wouldn't be able to associate with you. I'm just saying, he might be a good friend, and stars above, you could use a few, but—don't get too attached, all right?”

He waved, backing deeper into the shadows of the wall. Well, that was a first. Rutger wasn't sure how much stemmed from Dieck's distrust of Etrurian nobility and how much was his genuine interest in Rutger's well being. When they met again, Rutger would have to ask. As Dieck had taken on Rutger's cause, Rutger had no excuse to avoid Dieck's cares, and more than idle curiosity to push him to investigate.

Making plans for the coming investigation, he left the shadows, and strolled toward Clarine. “You shouted?”

“Oh there you are,” Clarine breathed out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “I thought you had run off again. Klein, this is Rutger. He's the mercenary who pushed me into the arms of this army. He's been guarding me for these last months, so you needn't have worried.”

Cool eyes swept up and down Rutger's body, probably seeing a short man with exhaustion all over his features, blood still on his clothes, and face and hands only negligibly washed after battle. If Rutger was Clarine's older brother, he would not have liked this news as all. But Klein was either a better actor, or willing to trust to his sister's judgment, as he smiled after a moment, and bowed. “Thank you very much for looking after her. I hope she was not troublesome—”

“Klein! I never am!” lying apparently made Etrurian ladies blush scarlet.

“—and if you are ever in need of work, or a place to stay, you are welcome in Reglay lands.”

“Thank you,” Rutger began.

“Well, of course he is,” Clarine rolled her eyes. “We really should introduce him to Momma and Poppa, anyway, when this is over. Are—are they back home, yet?”

“No,” Klein's glance at Clarine was troubled. “Apparently father's research in Missur was interrupted by news of the death of a family friend. The last letter I received said that they were going into the Nabatan desert to pay their respects. Are you being an asset to this army?”

“Of course! I—” but Clarine was going red again.

Just that morning she had asked for help learning offensive magic. Was the redoubtable girl doubting her own use? Perhaps her brother had asked this question in front of an audience because he doubted she would give him the truth of the matter. The little girl he probably knew might have been a healing prodigy, but had been the same pampered brat Rutger had to sneak out of a prison she had landed in through her own naivete.

Rutger tried to smile politely as he stepped into the conversation, though when Klein flinched, he decided to drop the expression. “At the moment, even three healers aren't enough to keep the army in one piece, with the size it is. We need Lady Clarine for that, and she said something about beginning the study of,” he faltered, wondering if a general wanted to hear that his twelve year old sister had expressed an interest in roasting people, but decided that anyone who was planning on entering a war his little sister had already been fighting in could take that information in stride, “combat magic. She is useful enough.”

Klein's smile and polite nod were better than any mask. Rutger had the uneasy sensation of having crossed some sort of boundary, as Klein also made it clear that he had mastered the art of speaking without giving any of what he was thinking. “I see. Thank you for telling me that. I'm very glad that you have been working hard, Clarine. Though I would like to hear more about this interest in combat magic. Father would be proud.”

It was probably the cue to withdraw. Rutger read it as such. He nodded again. “Well, Lady Clarine, I need to see about where I am to stow my gear, now that the castle has been cleaned out—”

“Oh! Before you go,” Klein refocused his calm attention. “I was wondering—I thought I saw you talking to someone while we were meeting Dorothy? But you were by the gate shadow, so I couldn't be sure.”

“I was,” Rutger began, not quite seeing Klein's point.

“I thought it might be someone I knew,” Klein persisted, but suddenly there was an outbreak of chatter. behind them, most of it sounding distinctly Merlinus-like and nervous.

All three heads turned to watch as Roy tried to calm Merlinus, and Elphin looked on with the faintest hints of a smile. Rutger realized that the townspeople were suddenly giving Roy a wide berth. Hmm. Had Elphin instructed the townspeople to give him privacy to talk to Roy, or had he simply seized the opportunity? And when had he stopped playing music?

Klein seemed just as troubled, though he couldn't possibly share in Rutger's suspicions, unless he had spoken to Dieck or Oujay. “That's odd. Who is that man?”

“He claims to be a wandering bard, calling himself Elphin,” Rutger shrugged. “I heard that the soldiers from the fort were looking for a man matching his description, though.”

“Mmm. Say, Clarine, do you remember much of my promotion ceremony before the court?”

“What? Oh yes, you looked wonderful!” Clarine smiled. “All that intense purple suited you perfectly. I think people were arguing over whether you should have been in blue or purple, since mother's relationship to the crown is so distant, but obviously purple was the best. Blue would have worked too, but only if it had gold edging to bring out your hair, and anyway, if you wore blue with silver, you would have been mistaken for the prince when he changed out of his formal wear. And the lighter peasant blues would wash you out too much. You have such a pleasing depth of coloration.”

Klein laughed. “Oh, you remember that much, do you? You even remembered Mildain's, ah, attempt at disguise.”

“Well, of course. A prince is a prince.”

“He is indeed,” Klein said thoughtfully, gazing at the ruckus in the forecourt that must seem a lifetime removed from whatever gathering they were thinking of.

Rutger wondered if promotion ceremonies were anything like festival days. Still, if that unreadable attention was focused on the suspect bard, he would be happy to leave the siblings to reminisce. Marcus was standing in the lee of Merlinus' bright wagon, looking slightly put upon, but not intervening. Rutger decided to actually do as he had said he would, and headed over intent on discovering what exactly the sleeping arrangements were for the evening.

Marcus acknowledged him with a stiff nod. “Hello, Master Rutger. You did very well in combat today. Have you seen Brother Saul, yet?”

“Thank you, and give my apologies to your warhorse,” Rutger began before raising an eyebrow. “Brother Saul? No. Was he looking for me?”

“He wished to know if your wound from our last enemy encounter had survived the day. It is very irresponsible not to see the healers on time. Particularly with the shape you're in,” Marcus began, and Rutger watched worried frown lines forming.

Rutger pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am feeling the effects of our night march. Otherwise, I'm fine. I will go see Saul as soon as I have stowed my things. Is it true we're to use the army barracks?”

“Good. Yes, we are. There is more than enough room for everything there, though it seems that the Etrurians weren't a mixed group—we will have to share barracks space with the ladies. But I've set up a few curtains for them.”

“Mm,” Rutger reached into the back of the wagon, fishing around for his lonely sleeping roll amid the clutter of extra swords and spears attached to the personal effects of the rest of the army. “Saul will like that.”

“What did you say?”

Rutger withdrew with his prize. “I'll see Saul as soon as possible. Is he still in the tent?”

“Ah, no. Roy asked him to go inspect the castle's supplies for poison after an, um, altercation with one of the good ladies of the town.”

Rutger could imagine. He nodded shortly, before glancing over at Roy, who was now speaking animatedly with Elphin, his eyes gleaming with the joy he usually reserved for finding an accurate terrain map. Frowning, Rutger moved closer to Marcus. “Has anyone talked to you about that bard?”

The question startled Marcus enough that the old knight dropped his professional reserve to stare at Rutger. “Why, I never expected you of all people—well, anyway,” he coughed, trying to maintain his composure. “Yes. Between the end of the battle and now I have been told that there is something a little fishy about Master Elphin by no less than three people. However, Astol says that the townspeople believe him to be part of the resistance militia. I sent Astol to talk to the soldiers to see if they will confirm this. However, I do believe General Roy has this situation well under control. And even if he does not, I have plenty of experience dealing with enemy assassins.”

All right, then. Though Rutger had the feeling Marcus' words were a little optimistic when it came to his abilities to deal with assassins. Still, Marcus had managed to survive long enough to get this far. The words of experience should not be taken lightly. Rutger nodded shortly and departed for the fortress keep, hoping to run down servant who could direct him to the barracks.

He found Saul first, however, chatting very hastily with a no-nonsense looking woman wearing a kind of wimple Rutger was sure was as outdated by the standards of the West as it looked outlandish to his eyes. As he passed, however, Saul latched onto him with the relief of a drowning man.

“And I am terribly sorry, madame. But if you will excuse me, that was a patient of mine. Rutger! Did anything happen in the battle today?”

“A lot of people died,” Rutger supplied, rather wary of being the excuse used to get out of a certainly well deserved lecture.

Saul nodded companionably, tapping his staff on the flagstones as he hurried his pace to keep up. “I think I'm getting used to your sense of humor at last, sir mercenary. But I'm not sensing any breaks in your skin, though you do have a lot of lingering magic in your system.”

“Sister Ellen healed me in the middle of the main battle today.”

“Ah, of course. And how is the dear sister? Glowing with divine grace, I hope.”

Rutger remembered the bottled horror of the morning. The last thing he would want was someone overly persistent trying to hit on him while he was re-evaluating the works of mankind. “Distraught and contemplating the atrocities of war was how she was doing when I last saw her. She has probably moved on to doing good works to repair the damage the soldiers wrought. Now, do you know where the barracks we are using are?”

The career diplomat's face had fallen as Rutger spoke. Now he just shook his head. “Or possibly I will never understand your sense of humor. Very well. Just take that hall all the way to the back. It's on the ground floor this time, with officer's quarters on the second floor. And no, I can't get you medical dispensation for one of the single rooms. Bors, Wendy and Barth came way before you in line. So did Lott, but he and Wade said something about seeing their families, so competition is less fierce than you think. But we have a new general with us, which complicates matters.”

Rutger snorted, listening to the carefully calculated list of room assignment priorities. “You were looking for a room all to yourself, weren't you?”

Saul ducked his head, and then shrugged. “What can I say? I'm not a fan of dormitory living. I would have thought with your temperament, you would have at least sympathized.”

“Not particularly,” Rutger felt his chest tighten. “I lived with only three generations of my family. That's practically considered hermitage in Bulgar. But even if I can't sympathize, I will never fail to find your boundless opportunism amusing.”

Saul rolled his eyes. “Take pleasure in my pain, then. Oh! But a ray of light! Do you know that this place has an actual bathing pool? I haven't seen one since Lycia. I've always wondered why they weren't a common feature of Etrurian design, but I will let that pass.”

“I did hear something about it. And intended to take advantage, once I had stowed my sleeping roll. Where is it?”

“Take the set of stairs from the exit to the practice yard to the basement,” Saul advised, beckoning him onward.

By the time Rutger had managed to stow his things, Saul had found the sets of old sheets that had been thoughtfully re-cut to serve as towels for the garrison. With no further prompting, Rutger left his clothes in the hands of the castle laundresses, who, although wary of strange mercenaries, did not seem to resent the fact that their masters had been overthrown. They even promised to heat extra water for the bathing pool and put it in the cisterns, for which both men were grateful.

Saul, however, complained yet again about the fact that Rutger only had one set of clothing, forcing the mercenary to point out that he was unlikely to borrow priestly robes ever again, if he could help it. As they settled into lukewarm water, Saul asked what, exactly, was wrong about his devotional garments, other than the fact that Rutger should not really be wearing them. That led to a rather strange discussion about the length of Saul's arms and the overwhelming emphasis placed on Father Sky in Elimine's religion, interrupted quite frequently for exchanges of soap, draining the water, and waiting for the pool to be refilled.

At last, Saul climbed out, while Rutger lay back in the water, his head on the edge of the tile, feeling content. Saul just shook his head. “I didn't realize how very—Sacaen you were about the faith. But I suppose if you feel that strongly, then my arguments are unlikely to sway you. Still, I'm a little shocked. Most mercenaries I meet tend to be willing to allow Father Sky sort things out after their worldly life is done, and not worry about the rest.”

“You'll find that bloodletting being a soul defiling sin excludes the profession from being terribly interested in what the Elimineans have to say about the worldly life of theirs,” Rutger smirked, feeling inordinately smug. If Saul was withdrawing, Rutger was obviously winning. “And again, Mother Earth has just as much place in the afterlife as the Sky.”

From under a towel, Saul waved his hands in tired defeat. “I think I'll stick to convincing more attractive people.”

The bathing pool had obviously started out life as a cavern in the physical mountainside where water had collected from various cracks and fissures in the rock that had turned into water worn holes eventually. When the fort had been built on top of that, the planners had merely hewn away the inconvenient rounded edges of the cavern, and covered the cracks with decorative tile or used the lower ones as guides to install the drains. Noting this had led to part of the conversation about the Eliminean Church to be dedicated to Etrurian decadence.

What Rutger and Saul had not realized was that it turned the bathing room and the passage leading to it, into an echo chamber. The sloshing of the water and their conversation had covered the approach of two other members of the army. But now that Saul was no longer talking, the slap of feet on stone and a different conversation echoed towards them.

“—I would never suggest that! I promise I will try, my lady. He is very nice, and I am happy to be his friend. But you can't just go around talking to strangers trying to attack you. What if you had met someone who was planning to wait for you to drop your guard?”

“Wendy, sometimes trust has to go blind. If they're willing to stop and talk, I see no reason not to try to talk. It might same some lives at least.”

“My lady,” Wendy's voice echoed softly, without the accompanying sounds of foot falls. “You saved us all today, and kept the village from being overrun. Please, even if it pains you, remember that there is reason for what we do.”

Lilina's wet sniff covered the sound of Saul's awkward cough as he inched toward the doorway. Rutger remained frozen, torn between embarrassment at hearing this, and irritation at the sentiment expressed. Even if his inclusion in the army was a by-product of a similar recruitment strategy, this attitude was exactly what his argument with Allen had been about.

“I just—magic is such a joyful, living force. I love to weave the energies together and know the pure creation of it. It scared me today, you know?” Lilina's voice dropped. “I'm not—I don't think of myself as an angry person, but I was so furious, and I felt the lightning building within that fury, even without the spell book. I think, if I got angry enough, I could create a storm. I mean, without having properly channeled the magic, and built the foundation for the creative forces. That's—it has to be dark magic. Or something foul. I don't like that something I learned for joy can become so powerful in rage.”

Wendy sighed. “I—this is beyond me, Lilina. But I trust you to be in control of the magic, as much as I am in control of my spear. Just because it is quicker to hand for you than my weapons are for me, that doesn't mean that you will lose all discipline and start destroying everyone. You have discipline and control that your servants admire, and bring hope to the army.”

Lilina's sigh, even distorted by the echo, said very plainly that Wendy's remarks about leading by example were not helping, and the light fall of her footsteps began again, sounding a little faster if anything.

Wendy's nervous laugh bounded ahead of the two young women. “Well, I suppose that seems like a lot of responsibility. Sorry, my lady. Ah? Perhaps, if we are not enemies when we return to Etruria, you can speak to General Cecelia about this. She has, after all, lead armies with the strength of her magic.”

On the heels of that suggestion both women turned through the unbarred archway into the pool. They stopped dead, staring at the room, and the diplomat, diplomatically covered, with the mercenary, who was not.

“Excuse us!” Lilina exclaimed, as Wendy stepped smartly in front of her, in case the sight of Saul in a towel was too much. “Ah, I—it never occurred to me that there would be no partition.”

Rutger sighed, and turned over to climb out. He had intended to stay in until the water grew cold and his skin was clean to the point of pruneiness. Too bad other members of the army had heard about the wonderful alternative afforded by Etrurian decadence, and would now put the pool to the same use. If Lilina and Wendy were here, others would be coming shortly, and while he might feel up to dealing with one or two people at a time, four was definitely the limit before withdrawing. “We were just leaving.”

“Sorry to chase you out,” Lilina smiled around Wendy's shoulder. “We were supposed to be meeting Sue here, as well. We had hoped no one was using the bath this early.”

“We're done. It doesn't matter,” Rutger grabbed Saul by the shoulder, and began steering him towards the passage. “We need to tell the laundresses that there will be another call on the water.”

He was actually surprised that the priest was not trying to make excuses to stay. Pleased, but surprised nonetheless. However, when they were out in the dim passage, lit by torches, rather than clearer burning lanterns, he thought he saw a frown on Saul's features. Not wishing to have Lilina and Wendy learn about the eavesdropping, he waited until they were up the stairs and on the ground floor before pointing out tactfully: “You look upset.”

Saul tried to smile jovially. “Oh. Nothing. I—well, that kind of spiritual confusion is, well, I'm sure that being in the company of good friends will help. Dame Wendy has a good head on her shoulders. I—I can't see that I would have been needed in my role as priest and guide. Obviously, if I was, I should have stayed and tried to help her out. But, of course, you were right, to make us leave. Very right. We were superfluous. Ah well, if everyone is beginning to take formal control of this fortress, I suppose I have some letters to my archbishop to write. Or, I could be helping the heroic Captain Tate to settle in! Hmm.”

Saul wandered away in a vaguely courtyard-ish direction. Rutger wondered if the church ever was able to get him to stop chasing women long enough to do his job. Well, that was luckily not his outlook. Too bad for Dorothy, but she had volunteered to help her church in any way needed.

This left Rutger with nothing to do, however. His sword was clean, but there was little use in going over his exercises until he had his clothes back from the clutches of the laundress, and from the sounds of Chad and Lugh running in the direction of the laundry, everyone and their brother was cleaning their garments. He could take to wandering idly around the kitchens, but he was still full from the post battle repast Merlinus had sent around, and cooks rarely needed more people underfoot, even if they were no longer cooking for a full garrison.

“Excuse me, Rutger,” Sue asked, stepping out of a side hall. “Captain Dieck was looking for you. Also, do you know where the supposed bath house is? Lilina asked if I would meet her there, but I can't find anything in this stone block that even resembles a bathhouse.”

“Just down those stairs,” Rutger nodded, stepping back so that she could see clearly. “They're already down there. But if you want a towel, that's in the cupboard off the laundry. Down that hallway,” he pointed, probably unnecessarily, as the noise and steam of a laundry in full swing was hard to miss.

“Thank you very much,” Sue inclined her head politely. “I believe Dieck was trying to get Thany to put away her things neatly, but he might have left the barracks by now.”

“Thank you, Lady Sue,” Rutger nodded, not wanting to stay, but his feet were suddenly made of lead, and he couldn't take his gaze from the worn flagstones with their rush coating.

Sue did not move, either, assessing him slowly as though he was a stranger she had met that morning. “Something—you're not as—not as leaky right now. I wonder why.”

Rutger felt heat rising in his cheeks. She couldn't be— “There was a battle today.”

“Does fighting calm you down?”

In the moments when he was a nothing but a blade with flesh attached, the the world dropped away. Of course it did. But those moments didn't last forever and the tight sick anger that had engulfed him with Allen's mis-placed compassion had nothing to do with the simplicity of a sword, and everything to do with the dark whirlwind of hateful memories. “No. Someone—it was a lot like Bulgar today, in some ways. I told a friend about it.”

He could feel a smile like a sunny spring day, and then Sue did move. “Well, that's good then.”

“It might help you, too. If you talked to someone,” Rutger volunteered haltingly.

“I'm going to be late. Bye.”

And the lady left him to realize that he was probably going to be late as well. Nothing for it, but to check the most recent Dieck sighting. Rutger set off for the barracks in the vain hopes that he would not end up chasing Dieck all over the fort, trying to find him.

He was lucky, in that the barracks did contain Dieck, though Dieck seemed to have picked the most out of the way corner in the maze of double bunked beds and arms chests to place his mercenaries. Rutger picked his way around the rows, trying not to let his attention get caught by the graffiti and carvings that the previous occupants had left.

His own bunk, which was in an even lonelier corner behind the upright weapons' racks, had some religious verse chalked onto the wooden support of the bed above and an apparently on-going insult war carved into the wall beside it. The question of whether the person, who had wanted everyone to know that Efran was a stink beetle, a dullard, and a pucamole, had died in the village, or was locked in the cells niggled unpleasantly in the back of Rutger's mind.

Even without the clutter separating Dieck's mercenaries from the other beds, it was hard in the low light to know that Dieck was even there. Luckily Thany had perched herself on her top bunk, and the flash of her white uniform was enough to guide himself by, as Dieck's light hair had sunk from sight.

Rutger stepped over the last arms' chest as Thany secured her javelin quiver to the post of her bed, and leaned down to look at the lower bunk where Dieck sprawled. “Happy now, Bro?”

From the bunk underneath her, Dieck reached out a lazy hand to flick her booted heel. “Hey, no sass from you. And be more respectful of your old captain when you're addressing him. Dieck's fine.”

“Well, Thany is better,” the young girl retorted. “She is particularly sad you didn't compliment her flying, which was good enough to avoid her experienced and skillful older sister. Hey, Rutger! Well, aren't you squeaky clean. How's the fabled bath house?”

“Lilina, Wendy and Lady Sue are currently making it a women's only place, but it's nice enough. They have good soap for the skin here,” Rutger shrugged, pushing Dieck's boots from the arms chest as he sat down.

All around him, he could see evidence of packs and weapons of the army. He hoped no one else was planning to put their stuff in the barracks. At the moment Thany's talkative energy swamped him, and all he needed was Lugh to come in and join in the ruckus.

“I think I'll stick with a regular old bucket, all the same,” Thany replied reflectively. “I still don't think that full soaks are good for the health.”

“That's just because you grew up in the land of icebergs and frozen lakes,” Dieck observed in a dull rumble. “Most of us aren't familiar with having the spit freeze in our mouths.”

“It's not that bad!” Thany blew a piece of hair from her face, and hopped from her bunk. “Anyway, satisfied with my organization now, Bro?”

“Ah, quit it. Go find Wade and tease him about being a terrible brother or something, will you?” Dieck waved a hand in Thany's direction, before casting a glance at Rutger. “I would have thought you were trying to get some shut eye.”

“It's more interesting sitting here.”

“Can't think why. I'm just lying down here, and Thany's always a dull girl.”

“You're awful, and I'm not going to take that from you,” Thany leaped over the arms chest Rutger had commandeered, and waved at the two of them. “Don't let Bro push you around, either.”

Rutger held up a hand in return, but Thany couldn't see the grin that lit his face. “I won't. Anyway,” he turned to Dieck, “I'm not sleepy. Tired of dealing with people, perhaps, but not sleepy.”

Dieck shifted upright with a grunt, and moved to sit on the edge of his claimed bunk. There was a hint of nerves in the way he laced his finger, his thumbs tapping together in a rapid beat. “I know we're not likely to be on the move tomorrow, but you should—”

“You know, Captain,” Rutger drew a breath, suddenly feeling light headed and drunk. The words coming out of his mouth did not seem to be attached to him. They just floated out, like little ice floes on a spring current, “I do fine _until_ I have to sleep. But even so, when I told you what had happened I thought—it wouldn't matter. You wouldn't change the way you treat me.”

Dieck looked down, hiding his face in shadows. “Yeah. Sorry. I'm really not—you're one of the people I keep safe. When I know I haven't done that, well, it bugs me, and I want to do something about it. So I guess ordering you to sleep isn't helping.”

Rutger tilted his head to the ceiling, trying to relieve the pressure around his throat. Counting the ceiling beams sticking through the plaster did not help. Concentrating on the dampness of his hair, and the chill in the large room only made Rutger think of Dieck's habit of wrapping around him. None of this was helping the hopeless wish that their paths would cross for longer than the length of a war.

“No, it doesn't. But thanks for trying.”

The bunk creaked while Dieck resettled himself, sprawling across it. “Then, what would help?”

Nothing, really. “Right now? Let me bask in a good victory, and not think about dragons or wyverns, or bards who might be planning to betray us—”

“Woah. Elphin came clean to the General while you were floating around like an angry soap bubble in the bath. He has been doing the co-ordination for the resistance militia on the island. Like a bard for non-noble folks,” Dieck began.

Rutger shrugged. “There have been a lot of cross currents since we arrived on these islands. This is the trail guard in me speaking, but just because he has declared his colors does not mean that he's not part of a hunting party.”

“And little Klein's part of a plot by the Etrurian military to weaken us from within?” Dieck asked, his voice light and teasing. “Never mind. No wonder you don't want to think for a while. How can one turncoat be so suspicious?”

“It's been that kind of day.”

If only it hadn't been a village this time. Turning life on the edge of his sword should be a simple exercise, all movement and focus. But that focus brought him the textures of terrain, and the similarity of place had brought back all the recriminations and the second guessing. Why hadn't the watch known an army was at the outskirts of the city before it was streaming into the merchant's quarter? Could they have saved themselves by suspecting every mountain born face in the crowd? Rutger wouldn't have minded, if that would have prevented the whole massacre.

“Alright then,” Dieck's voice was full of lazy amusement. “And how do you propose not thinking? You know what I generally do when I want to turn my mind off?”

“If the answer is 'sleep,' I don't want to hear it.”

Dieck rolled onto his side, staring at Rutger with large eyes. “But I had such a good punchline lined up to for it.”

It would not have taken a slow thinker to guess what that punchline was. Dieck had a very Etrurian sort of crudeness in his humor, after all. “If the answer is 'sleep with someone,' I still don't want to hear it. Hearing about your other lovers isn't relaxing.”

“You do have a one track mind,” Dieck laughed. “What if I said 'holding you'? Relaxing yet? This bunk's bigger than the cot in my tent.”

Pushing himself from the arms chest took more effort than Rutger wanted to admit. Still, as he slid silently onto the bunk, he had to wonder why he hadn't pressed for this solution in the first place. Dieck was certainly quick enough to arrange Rutger against his body to his liking, plucking away wet tips of hair until Rutger's cheek was cradled in the hollow of his neck and shoulder, and Rutger could feel every rise and fall of his breath.

“Now isn't this better,” Dieck murmured, running his palms slowly down Rutger's sides. He gasped as Rutger moved his own hands to hold on to Dieck's back “Hey, no tickling.”

“Only when I need to wake you up,” Rutger promised, reveling in the closeness and weight that came from their embrace. The soft soap of their recent baths did not quite cover the earthy smell of Dieck's skin, so present and around them. “So, you're just planning to hold me quietly while we wait for a dinner call, or the next strategy meeting?”

“I could hold you talkatively, too, if you like.”

“No, this is fine.”

Rutger could look forward to something so pleasant after long days, he knew. The kindness, the ease of acceptance. He would be happy to keep Dieck here forever. But even if Rutger did not die on a Bernian blade—probably because Dieck would stop it first—they each had their own hopes for after the war.

His fingers tightened on Dieck's shoulder blades. When he buried his face in the mercenary's neck, Dieck pulled him closer, too, as though he knew exactly what Rutger wanted to say but could not find the words for. At least Dieck was here right now, and willing to hold him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Klein's on board, and he's not going to get approached by Elphin for a while. When I was developing that part of the plot I realized it must be REALLY weird to be Klein no matter when he joins, as two people out of the army are actively avoiding him, and its not that big an army. It’s smaller than a lot of my grade school classes, and I sure as hell noticed when even one person was avoiding me. Even weirder, if you’re in the A Route, Elphin actually will *succeed* in avoiding Klein, as they can't support on that route. So, like, the really flashy bard tactician with the massive braid of doom manages to avoid the conversation about whether he's a prince from one of Roy’s collection of enemy generals who probably shares the same strategy meetings for the entire war.


	10. Leaving the Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not that Dieck has something to hide, he just wanted to keep his past close to his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter contains someone, who is not versed in the ways of bondage, playing with bondage, and triggering his partner because they didn't do a whole lot of discussion beforehand, or set up structures to make it work for both of them. Also, chances are that if the fun and games had lasted longer than three minutes it would have been pretty physically uncomfortable because let's be honest, makeshift bondage gear figured out on the spur of the moment is generally not what you should be going with for everyone's happiness. But mostly this chapter is about coming out of a bad situation, and repairing damage. Even so, this is one of the chapters where trauma is brought up, and if any of it comes off as too rushed, or badly written, or in terrible taste, let's discuss it and make that section better.

The smack of fishy bodies hitting barnacle encrusted rocks echoed over the salt flat. Rutger tried to ignore the ease with which Wade had tossed the net out of the boat when he noticed Rutger was struggling to pull the little craft up the beach. The Isles had favored whipping wind and storm gray clouds today, but the difficulty of fishing kept Rutger very warm. Beside him, Fir was dripping with sweat, and she did not have the excuse of having fallen into the ocean the way Wade had.

“It's got to be clear of the tide line now,” Fir exclaimed, sagging against weather worn wood.

Wade loomed over the two of them, grinning. “And you're sure you can keep up, kiddo?”

He swung the bulging, wriggling net across his shoulders, and ambled toward the gutting fires that Merlinus had set up for the giant reserves operation. Fir stuck out her tongue after him. “I hope the sea washes him away.”

“Not before he's finished delivery,” Rutger pointed out, feeling his legs turn to jelly, as he leaned against the recently beached bow.

“Oh, definitely not,” Fir agreed. “Ugh. My blisters have blisters. Who's on vulnerary duty?”

“Dorothy,” Rutger waved towards the little group Merlinus had organized. Once he had caught his breath, he was going to have to join Fir, as well. The skin from his finger tips to his palms felt ripped to shreds, and there was no way he could handle his sword without doing further damage. He probably should have left the sword in the barracks, but at least the weight of the scabbard against his thigh gave him some company in the lonely cold mornings while Wade and Fir chatted happily. After the last two days of provision foraging before dawn, he never wanted to see another net, and when he did, he would blame it for any fault in his blade work.

Fir managed to stand up from the bow. “I'm beginning to wish I'd said yes to the inland foraging group.”

“Well, we didn't.”

Also, the complaints from everyone who were trying to find what edible vegetation there was on this part of the island were endless. Even if it might have been easier on Rutger's aching muscles, and not require waking before the moon had set, there were limits on how many thorns he was going to endure for a handful of half rotted berries. Having to give up a portion of that meager supply to the townspeople of the fort was also not his idea of rewarding. Fishing, for all that it took too long and left him wanting to lie down for the rest of the day, brought enough food in that he didn't mind seeing the amount that was returned to the salter and the village smokehouse as a payment for the use of the boat and nets.

“Ho boy, Gonzales is coming over. We must look like half dead wretches,” Fir stretched, and waved at the approaching mountain. “We're fine, just tired!”

“Okay,” Gonzales rumbled, but he advanced until he was at the boat side as well. Without explaining, he lifted the hull from the scraping rocks, and hefted the boat over his head, turning to look back at the drier end of the flat. “Where to?”

Someone, probably Lilina, pointed down the south coast, toward the small jetty in the hidden cove the villagers used. Gonzales began trudging in that direction, leaving the two swordsmen staring after him.

“Well, I feel useless,” Fir managed.

“Let's get the vulneraries,” Rutger sighed.

They headed for the small, smelly group around the fires, everyone involved in the operation of gutting, flaying and readying the fish to be salted and dried to Merlinus' specifications. Dorothy, Chad and Sister Ellen stood a little apart, doing something with cauldrons. Rutger caught the pungent smell of the fish innards before they reached the three, and decided that it would be wiser not to look into the secrets of healing medicine and how it was concocted.

Fir held out her hands, looking piteously at the three. “I know it's better to wait for the blisters to heal naturally, but please help?”

Dorothy chuckled. “Of course. You can test whether the unguent I made yesterday is ready to be bottled. Er, that's all right, Sister? It's past the stage where air will make it turn solid?”

“As long as it has properly dissolved in the solution overnight, everything will be fine,” the priestess reassured her assistant.

Dorothy beamed, and rolled a small cask around the cauldron. Not possessed of any healing secrets, Fir sat quietly, keeping her hand out stretched. As Rutger preferred not to be the first one testing the new concoction, he stood back from the flames, watching as other members of the army continued to gut the fish, and glad that it wasn't his job.

Far away from the smell of the army's provisioning, Roy and Elphin were having another heated debate about something. The debates were common, but as far as Rutger could tell from mealtimes and meetings, they were never serious. Given the general tenor of the discussions, which tended to be about how much preparation was needed before an army had to move, and how fast it had to move, both young men were having the rare experience of meeting another person who thought in the same manner and challenged that way of thinking perfectly.

Well, as long as Roy won, Rutger assumed that the leadership was staying in his capable hands. Even if Elphin was familiar with planning for that resistance militia, he wasn't familiar with running an army, and there still was something fishier than the contents of the cauldrons about him. Maybe it was the way he and Dieck had a habit of disappearing around the same time.

“Your hands, Master Rutger?” Dorothy repeated, bringing Rutger's frown back to the present.

Seeing the Fir was marveling at clean skin, unmarred by the angry red stripes that had crossed her palms, Rutger submitted to the experimental ointment readily enough. After a minute, Fir looked up, her expression all smiles. “Dorothy, this stuff is amazing. Have you ever thought of going into healing?”

Dorothy glanced at Sister Ellen for a moment, a small frown settling on her features. “Well. Yes, I did, once. But it turned out that I'm better suited to archery. I'm happy to learn medicine like this, though! I never knew what went into making healing potions before.”

“I would have been happy to tell you,” Sister Ellen pointed out. “I'm surprised the knowledge is so uncommon, but we really owe a debt of gratitude to the village apothecary for this recipe.”

“Well, a debt of something, alright,” Chad grumbled, making a face as he stirred the brew in his cauldron. “I didn't think healing people was supposed to be this smelly.”

Sister Ellen shook her head, returning to stir her cauldron. “Magical or non-magical, anything that repairs the body is messy or smelly, or both.”

“And yet the healers of Elimine wear white and blue,” Dorothy chuckled, nudging Chad in the ribs. “You and I, however, get to be practical. Well, Fir, how is it feeling? Has the tingling worn off?”

Rutger was still rubbing the brownish substance on his hands. He looked down suspicious that he had not felt any tingling. Just to check, he bent down to pick up a stone. It did feel a little odd, as though he was wearing thick leather gloves around his fingers.

“I'm fine now,” Fir answered reassuringly. “It wasn't weird for long, but it was weird. Are all vulneraries like that at first?”

“No,” Sister Ellen assured quickly. “But I put in a lot of numbing agents because, well, the main ingredient in the Island recipe is nettles.”

“Nettles? As in the plant that makes your skin run red and itchy and horribly painful while swelling to monstrous proportions if you look at it funny?” Fir asked, echoing Rutger's thoughts in far more detail than necessary.

Dorothy and Chad shared the evil grins of soldiers telling war stories together. “It is what we've been gathering for the last two days,” Dorothy began.

“Yeah, the Islands are full of them,” Chad agreed, before calmly adding, “of course, we might have misplaced a bundle or two. Somewhere near the sleeping rolls.”

“Don't even joke about that, you little jerk!” Fir was now staring at her hands in horror.

At Chad's dark chuckle, she lunged, trying to smear what was left of Dorothy's medicinal lotion on Chad's cheeks. Before it got too out of hand, Rutger decided, seeing Sister Ellen advancing, that he had better help out. The sister and the mercenary dragged the two combatants apart, not really a hard proposition, as the two were more than willing to separate.

Chad rubbed his cheeks gingerly, scowling up at Rutger as though it was his fault. Rutger glared back, forcing the boy to drop his furrowed eyebrows quite quickly. A more powerful glare might have been Chad's natural gift, but he was not quite ready to deal with the authority age gave to Rutger.

Satisfied that his point had been made, Rutger decided to ask something that had been niggling in the back of his mind for the past few days. “Where's your green haired accomplice? I haven't seen much of him since we took the fort.”

“We're not a set of matched swords, you know,” Chad grumbled. Something nervous lurked behind his expression, though. “Anyway, he's had his hands full, helping Clarine with her magic, and, well, stuff. It's not a surprise that he doesn't have much free time anymore.”

He had not had much free time since he spotted wyverns in the sky, as far as Rutger could recall. That thought sat uncomfortably in the back of his mind. He was not certain who outside of Chad had noticed the sudden distance, and if Rutger was the only one, it might be his duty to bring up the topic.

Dorothy hastily damped down the fires, interrupting Rutger's musing.

“Oh, there's no need, they weren't being serious—” Ellen began, still cleaning extra lotion off Fir's fingers, but Dorothy pointed over her shoulder.

“I see the inland foraging parties heading towards us poor fish gutters, so it's likely that we're all to receive our orders for the day. It's just a guess, mind, but if the meeting runs long, why let our medicine get burned?”

Sister Ellen glanced at the gathering crowd, just as Roy began to stride toward Merlinus and the breakfast cauldron, which also served as the gong to call everyone together. “You're probably right. Yesterday's idea gathering round nearly ruined the late morning batch. Still, don't let the fire go out entirely. Cool it too much at this stage, and we'll have a vulnerary mixture that we have to crush to powder before it can be used.”

“Potions are easier,” Dorothy nodded, banking the coals.

The cauldron clanged, calling the army from their work. They drifted over in clumps. Rutger was reminded of the line of seaweeds on the now distant shore. Roy stood firmly by the cauldron, his “my maps and plans have come to fruition and this is what we will do” face at the ready, nodding solemnly until he had a count of the active army members on the salt flat.

“We're heading south with the predawn tide to Caledonia. Apparently Castle Idina on Caledonia's east coast is a staging point for the corrupted military and bandits in these Isles. All of the missing people we heard about in northern Fibernia are sent there, as well as inhabitants from Caledonia itself, before they are shipped north to Mount Ebrakhm.

“Elphin tells me that we only have a small window of opportunity to rescue the people there before the last shipment of the autumn sets sail. The resistance forces were headed South when we arrived at the fort, but even though they arrived before us, their reports have said that it won't be possible to let the captured villagers out of their bonds until the regular guard shift rotation, which will happen at the end of this month—the same day as the last ship out.

“We have access to the Fort's galley, which will get us to the land around Idina in a day and a half, and leaves us with a few days time to set up and create the distraction the resistance forces can use to free the prisoners, and put them into our care. If we can do this we will have evidence that the Etrurian crown will have to listen to, which in turn is going to keep Lycia's alliance with Etruria secure against Bern.”

Rutger frowned, not caring over much for maintaining an alliance with a people who had so very little control over their far flung troops. They should free the Islanders, obviously, but burdening the slow moving army with rescued non-warriors when there were the shadow of wyverns' wings overhead was a waste of time. However, both Clarine and Klein were nodding vigorously, and the Ostian contingent looked visibly relieved, so who was he to judge? Neither of the people involved were his people—

Dieck, however, was—well, they were together. Even if the alliance did not matter to Rutger, and even if Dieck really felt no connection to the earth where he had been born, the status of an alliance with Etruria and Lycia had a lot of bearing on a mercenary like him, and his company's chances of survival. The frown did not ease, but Rutger tried not to dismiss the importance of Roy's goals out of hand.

“All right. We will be leaving with the dog stars to catch the outgoing tide, so everyone who is assigned to helping Merlinus with the provisions, please continue your work, but finish up after midday. Those people who helped with the early morning runs, or are excused for magic practice, please get rest or keep up with your drills. You'll probably be the most awake of all of us tomorrow morning.”

The tone of dismissal was obvious, and Roy turned to look for Elphin once more. Rutger considered his options, as he had basically been let free for the day, but the flash of eye blinding yellow moving through the crowd toward the village decided him.

Striding forward, he managed to catch up with the young mage, and crunched over the barnacles with him for a few moments, trying to appear uninvolved.

“Oh, hey, Rutger,” Lugh greeted cheerfully enough. “What are you up to?”

For a moment, Rutger panicked. His personal scenario had held him making the first move. All of his cautious questions about how Lugh was doing, and if vengeance was really a vocation Lugh was considering, he should probably listen to a professional on the subject, were now not part of the conversation. “I—was interested in how Lady Clarine was doing.”

Which he was, oddly enough. However, usually he would have asked the girl herself. Still, maybe he could steer the conversation around to magic and it's utility in battle that way.

Lugh grinned. “That's nice of you. Did Kl—er, General Klein send you? No? And she's, well,” he paused, frowning, “really enthusiastic. It's a little scary when she doesn't cast protection wards before a spell, though.”

“Oh?” Rutger remembered a charred score on the interior protective wall of the fort, and wondered if that had been Clarine's fledgling work, and not, as he had assumed, one of Lilina's occasionally misplaced thunder strikes.

“Yeah. I mean, that's why it's important for anima mages to have support and other mages watching over them when they begin. Lilina and I can cast the wards if Clarine forgets. And she forgets a lot, even though we've been trying to modify the fire incantation so the gestures alone will raise the wards, and she doesn't have to think about putting a little energy into the protection around the flame. But we haven't hit on a perfect formula yet. Hey, you want to come to the practice? Wendy volunteered to be an innocent bystander so that Clarine had a bit more of a reminder to be careful.”

Rutger had visions of his surcoat reduced to ash, and of Clarine quite eager about the whole circumstance, using it as an excuse to turn him into her dress up doll, if she had not engineered the accident in the first place. On the other hand, he was trying to talk to Lugh, and it would be a short conversation if he said 'no.' “Maybe. How did you learn without burning everything down?”

“Well,” Lugh looked a little shifty, “I never said I was perfect to begin with. But my brother was always there, and I remembered some stuff, so it was mostly okay? I only burned away half a tome in one night because of lack of protection, and, well, I learned my lesson after that.”

Rutger was startled. No one ever mentioned that young mages were that capable of destruction. The idea that any ragamuffin with access to a fire tome could start fires filled him with retroactive fear for areas in Bulgar with foreign magicians. “Is this common?”

“Um. Well, probably? Fire doesn't normally start in mid air, so when you call it, you've got to be careful that you didn't make the space where it can form too big. That's mostly what the protection is for, it binds fire to a narrow point and then you can direct it. Clarine is mostly making big poofs of fire that dissipate after a heartbeat and kind of singe anyone close by, but they don't do much actual damage, which is what combat magic is supposed to be all about. Though she can scare horses with that, so there's an advantage right there according to Roy.”

Speaking as an infantryman, the last thing Rutger really wanted to deal with in the chaos of battle was an unpredictable, frightened war horse. Most horses were made skittish by magic, in any case, but the idea of uncontrolled magic, and horses, and the inevitability of Bern's wyverns made Rutger shudder. “You know, when we fight Bern, wyverns terrify most non-plains horses, and horses aren't fond of fireballs at the best of times. Is Clarine's combat magic going to make things worse?”

Lugh stopped walking for a moment, stuck possibly nerveless by the thought. “Well, I hope not. I really hope not. But she should be more controlled by then. I mean, we're not going to be facing wyverns until, well, hopefully not for a long while.”

They continued walking in silence, surveying the stretches of rocks, silt and the dry white crust of salt caught on the flat. The air was cold, the wind whipping along to steal the moisture from the mouth, or perhaps it was the all pervasive smell of brine creeping along and rendering them voiceless.

“You've been quiet since we last saw wyverns,” Rutger managed at last, seeing the walls of the village hove into view, and knowing that the chance to talk alone was about to be cut short.

“Really? I don't think so,” Lugh's smile was as bright as ever.

“I thought you were,” Rutger shrugged. “I just wanted to know if you were all right.”

“Oh, well, I'm fine,” Lugh assured him quickly, raising his hands in protest when Rutger gave him a look. “Really! I was—I don't think I'm going to ever like Bern soldiers, but General Roy and I had a long talk that day. I mean, we were the rear guard, and well, everyone else had the battle so well in hand, we got to sort of chat about stuff. Then a shaman started flinging spells at us and it was business as usual. But everything's fine.

“I guess I've been more worried about what happens if we find actual Bern soldiers on the Isles. If we attack, does that mean Lycia is back at war with Bern? After all the rebuilding we did, it seems a waste that it could all be destroyed again.

“And then there's Lilina and Clarine. They're both trying their hardest, but Lilina's getting kind of scary levels of strong with her magic, and Clarine is just learning, and they're kind of going through really different kinds of things at the same time, so I'm trying to be there for them. It's a little, well, exhausting, trying to keep up. They're both really powerful, but it would be nice to have someone a little older with us, I guess. Kinda makes me appreciate what Chad has been through, though, dealing with me and Ray when we were getting started.”

There did not seem to be much Rutger could say to that. He did not happen to have any adult combat mages among his acquaintance. Even distantly, the mages and shamans he had known of in Bulgar specialized in healing, and the shamans of the tribes were almost never seen in the city. The closest any of the mages here would come to an adult who understood their studies would be the Eliminean contingent, and Saul was not terribly studious, and Sister Ellen was not oriented towards combat.

As they walked through the village gate, nodding at the town guard, Lugh began to chatter on about technicalities of magic, and after a few facts, Rutger decided that he was completely lost. Protection wards had been hard enough to understand, the thoughts about how movement governed wards around fire were beyond him. This was rather like the lecture on magma, and all of the terribly interesting facts about magma that Lugh had delivered months ago. By the time they reached the courtyard of the fort, and the area currently made into a magic practice ring Rutger was ready to run to the barracks and not come out until he had forgotten the words velocity and acceleration.

Luckily for him, perhaps, Clarine was already waiting, chatting with Wendy, and as soon as she saw him, she signaled peremptorily. “Rutger, if you're not doing anything, I need you to stand right there, and prove to Wendy that I can control this spell.”

“How do I prove your control?” Rutger asked, a sinking feeling starting in the pit of his stomach and, as Lugh would probably say, accelerating towards his heels.

“You stand there, hold out your sword, and if the fireball makes it warm we wait until Lady Lilina gets here, the way Wendy wants.”

“My. Sword.”

“Well, anything metal will do. Wendy doesn't want the enamel on her armor to get damaged, which is a very important thing to be concerned about, but I don't need Lady Lilina to hold my hand the whole time,” Clarine pouted, her eyes narrowing on the large girl beside her. “We won't have time for this in a real battle, you know.”

“In a real battle, Lady Clarine,” Wendy bowed politely, “I would have other worries on my mind. But since we are not in a battle, and there is no reason to hurry your training, why not wait? Besides, Lugh is already here, so Lilina won't be long.”

Rutger agreed with Wendy, but Clarine had that look in her eye that said mastery of fire was going to happen today or she would have words with Mother Earth herself. Actually, that was an interesting question. Was Clarine having trouble with magic because she could not brow beat it into submission? Still, given that expression, there was very real risk for his weapon.

“My sword is worth as much to me as Wendy's armor is to her.”

“It is not,” Clarine told him. “She has bespoke armor, developed specifically for her body, and your sword was an off the forge item from Aquelia”

Rutger sighed. Life in this army would be much easier if Clarine's eye for material goods extended towards understanding the differences between things that did not personally effect her, or offend her sight. “My sword is made in the Sacaen style, which suits my body and the way I have learned to fight. The ironmongery that passes for a sword on these Isles is unwieldy and imprecise at best. A longsword may suit an Etrurian paladin who has his horse to do the footwork for him, and a bastard sword might be fine for an infantryman who is already weighed down by armor—I am neither of those however, and finding a sword to suit me is difficult—”

Clarine crossed her arms. “Well, you could always ask Fir. She is has that spare sword she lugs around and never uses. That, um—”

“Wo Dao,” Wendy supplied, though her voice was slightly muffled as she was trying to hide a grin behind a gauntleted hand. Rutger assumed that was why he had heard 'Wo Dao' and not the actual kind of sword Fir used.

“Wo Dao,” Clarine repeated, also getting the name wrong. Fir _couldn't_ be casually toting around one of the rarest styles of swords on the Plains. “What's wrong, Rutger? Are you ill?”

“You just suggested I borrow a legendary sword from someone who doesn't even know the colors of the Kutolah.”

Wendy blinked in surprise, and Clarine's head whipped around. “What? You mean Fir's family sword is capable of slaying dragons? Did you know about this, Dame Wendy? Should we tell Klein, or someone?”

“It's the first I heard of it, but legendary and dragon slaying aren't always the same thing. What are you talking about, Rutger?”

Fir's family sword? That put a staggering complexion on things. Still, it couldn't be right. The smiths that had created the infamous blades had died out almost thirty years ago, and Fir was barely half that age. “Wo Dao is a special style of sword made by a family of Sacaen smiths. They are astounding blades and priceless. They say the spirits of the extant swords are wild, and nearly impossible to control without having mastered the inner calm of a priest. I really doubt Fir has one. There are only supposed to be six of them left in the world, if that, now that the family that knew the secrets of their design died. Swordsmen pop up from time to time, claiming to have them, but usually they're knock offs. They say the Sword Saint has one, though.”

Rutger caught a glassy aspect in Clarine's face, and broke off with a cough. Maybe this was what Lugh always felt like, bursting with a desire to talk about everything he had ever run across. Maybe this was how Clarine felt about clothes. Actually, it almost certainly was how Clarine felt about clothes. Well, if she ever did drag him off shopping as threatened, he could always take her to some smithies afterward, and show her some of his personal obsession.

“Sorry I'm late, everyone!” Lilina called, rushing into the courtyard with her skirt hiked to her knees. “Sorry, really. Sir Bors wanted to know if there was anything that the mercenary commanders should know for their strategy session this morning, and I was waylaid. Shall we get started? Um. Master Rutger, are you participating with Wendy?”

“No,” Rutger decided, backing away as quickly as possible.

Once he was out of the recruitment zone, however, he did find a comfortable spot on the nearest fence to watch. The whole morning had made him slightly curious about what a protection ward actually looked like, but when Clarine brought up her tome and fire crackled out of an ashy page in the perfect shot of flame that Rutger envisioned when he thought of anima magic, there was no flash of light, or strange smoke. It was just fire, guided and directed to the dark char mark on the wall, and Clarine punching the air with her success.

The second shot was much less successful, expanding suddenly into a cloud of fire that had Wendy scrambling to get out of the way. Clarine thumped her saddle with the tome in irritation. “But I had it last time! Why won't it work every time?”

Lilina frowned, flipping open one of her tomes, and leafing through the pages. “Okay, we've gone over feeding magic through your will and into the air. We know you can create flame, and maintain protective wards. What are we missing? It's got to be something simple. Can we go over this step by step?”

“Again?” Clarine was dismayed, but marshaled her countenance. “But, that's not really any good, because I can recite the basics word for word. I am a great student, after all. But I'm not always following through with something in my head while I'm enchanting. But I know that I am.”

“This would be a lot easier if we could see all your thoughts,” Lilina agreed. Her mouth fell open. “Of course. Lugh! Is there a spell that we can use to color magic? Or sense the specific way you're shaping it somehow? I thought I remembered something in that advanced fire tome we saw in Aquelia. The one by Sage Whatshisname. 'Anima is a creative force, and like all creation there is a seed.' Um, it had something to do with lightning? Like in a really devastating fire spell, we actually incorporate the strong lightning magic to trace magic runes in the air? Or was it something else? Sorry, Clarine, I can't remember.”

Clarine had brightened up. “Maybe I should start with your thunder tome, and work my way toward fire from there?”

That suggestion had Wendy backing up even further. “Lady Lilina, Lady Clarine, perhaps I should stay out of the way until you decide what you want to do.”

“Er, let's not start experimenting with the thunder spell just yet,” Lilina agreed. “It goes out of control easily, and with Rutger and Wendy so close, and the chance of other people running around, it's too dangerous.”

Lugh looked thoughtful. “Well, we can sort of feel the difference between the magic branches at a distance, right? Maybe there's something we could do from there? 'cause I'm pretty sure when Clarine isn't thinking about it hard, or she's feeling confident, she kind of pushes magic out in a surge, the way you do with a thunder spell. At least, I get that prickly too much anima feeling right before she makes a fire cloud.”

Rutger glanced at Wendy, as she leaned cautiously against the fence post. She crossed her arms, and glanced back. “It's kind of weird, isn't it? The fact that people use magic like this, I mean. Someone at some point had to figure all of this stuff out just by thinking about it. Spears and lances, well, that's just someone discovering that pointy bits of wood can be used to defend people. Swords, too. But someone had to think about how to make fire just appear, and it takes so much work.”

“Making your kind of armor also takes a lot of work,” Rutger pointed out.

“That's true. And it takes a lot of work to learn how to wear it properly and function in battle. But, I feel that mages are more like craft masters. Oh, not in rank, certainly, but you and I, we defend people with things created for us. A mage makes and remakes their weapon in every engagement, don't they?”

“True,” a creak from one of the fort's wicket gates caught Rutger attention, and he looked over his shoulder to see Dieck and Tate emerge into the forecourt, Sir Barth on their heels.

Tate nodded in Wendy's direction. She looked more tired than usual, and Rutger doubted it was because Thany was trying to show off what a good lanceman the youngest sister had become. That thought was confirmed when the captains came over to the fence, and Barth glanced at Tate and then back at Wendy, as though there was bad news on the horizon, but he was not certain if he should be the one to break it.

“Yes, Captain?” Wendy looked around at the three, her eyebrows raised.

“We've been in talks with the townspeople about what to do about the fort, and the provost has decided that they're going to hire my remaining squad members at winter rates to staff the fort, along with General Klein's bowmen to give the mercenaries legitimacy,” Tate began, running her fingers through her hair. “Look, my wing are all talented and experienced, but we've never had to run a full fort before, much less trying to fool an army that might be expecting to talk to Zinc sometime before spring. I had hoped we'd have a few more days, but we don't. May I borrow you and the rest of the veteran knights to share your knowledge of this kind of work with my squad?”

“You may have me, certainly, Captain Tate,” Wendy rose to attention in a clattering of plate. “I can't speak for anyone else though. But where would you like this lesson?”

“Well, my squad is guarding the inland foragers right now. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, we could go to them and start right away.”

At the mention of going to find the foraging party, Sir Barth looked less than enthusiastic. On a less hale man, Rutger would have said his expression was exhausted. “I suddenly understand a wise proverb one of the old Ostia sergeants used to use when I was training: Between the terrain and the early mornings, I am going to lose any hair I have left. Lead on, Captain Tate. I assume you'll be able to find everyone from the air once you get your pegasus. I will go tell Sir Bors that he is needed to supervise the young mages.”

“That's not really what I'm here to do, sir,” Wendy protested. “Er, my role was to be avoid-the-target practice.”

Barth just gave her a look. “I know. However, even if this is like morning exercise to them, someone should be watching while they play with fire.”

Wendy colored, but strode after Tate, as the knight made a bee-line for the stables. Not so subtly, Dieck slid into the spot she vacated. “Aren't you supposed to be out salting mackerel or something?”

Rutger crossed his arms against the cool air. “If you drag the net in and dump it, there are others to make up for the fact that you were out in the ocean before sun up. I am free to practice my sword work, or simply marvel at the wonders of mages for the rest of the day. Do you want to join me?”

“Watching Lugh and Lilina argue over a book? There are worse ways to spend time, I suppose.”

“I meant if you would like to join me in a practice bout,” Rutger repeated, but he knew the answer already was 'no' and he was basically glad for it. Repaired blisters aside, the morning's work had left him feeling lazy. “How did your tactical meeting go?”

“Fairly well, once Elphin dropped in to say that the marching orders were underway. That got the townspeople to stop haggling over the necessity of mercenaries at last. He's got a good way of breaking news to people.”

And that way seemed to have everyone dancing to his tune. Rutger decided Elphin was not a subject he really wanted to raise at the moment, though. It was not as though the bard was the only one keeping secrets, and he seemed genuinely interested in getting rid of the Etrurian army. He didn't even seem to like Klein or the rest of the archer squad that much, even though Elphin was friendly to everyone else, and Klein was everything Clarine claimed him to be, even if not as liable to glow, and make grass grow where he walked.

Maybe Elphin was like Dieck, and uneasy around Etrurian nobles. And maybe Rutger should stop reminding himself exactly how much Dieck held in common with a mature intelligent man who looked as though he had stepped out of an Etrurian ballad in praise of their idea of beauty.

“So,” Rutger changed the subject. “Are you ready to leave in the pre-dawn with the stars shining over us?”

“Mmm,” Dieck glanced at the gray sky, and rubbed his hands together, blowing on cold fingers. “Tell you what: ask that question when I'm tossing you out of your austere little corner tomorrow morning.”

Rutger smiled. “Sleeping under Thany's bunk has given you fresh ideas. I thought you didn't like getting attacked from dark corners.”

“You don't like being woken up that energetically?” Dieck's voice oozed innocence. “If only you'd chosen a part of the barracks a little closer to the rest of the army, no one would have to worry about you sleeping through the tide.”

Rutger did not miss the glancing smirk, and he elbowed Dieck in the side. This coming from a man who had been complaining the other night that even with a weapons' rack and several storage chests between Rutger's bed and the rest of the barracks, they were far too close to the rest of the sleeping army—particularly Chad, whose bunk was almost as removed as Rutger's, though he had at least stored his gear on the top bunk to keep from having to share.

Throwing his head back, Dieck surveyed the gray sky. “You know, it looks like rain. We probably won't have much time outside—”

“Klein!” Clarine yelled, waving eagerly at her brother who was coming from the front gate with a group of his archers. With the bows in evidence, target practice must have been on the schedule, but little sisters with loud voices tended to take precedence. “See how well I'm doing! We've almost got the fire spell figured out!”

Dieck's hand stole over Rutger's, his thumb circling a knuckle, until Rutger turned his attention away from the courtyard. Dieck's lazy smile had an anticipatory edge to it, as he raised his eyebrows invitingly. “Hey, with everyone out and about, the barracks should be empty now, and if the rain comes, we'll all be stuffed inside like apples in a basket. This might be the only chance to be alone for who knows how long.”

Rutger felt the eagerness to get away in the soft pull on his hand, and the set of Dieck's shoulders. Very like his stance just before he jumped out of sword range when they were fighting, actually. Rutger would go along with it, but, as Clarine drew Klein over to her training ground, Rutger saw the way Dieck's eyes were tracking the former Etrurian General.

Well, Rutger had no problem humoring a desire to get away from too many people. Even if the desire was a little too focused, and odd for a personable man like Dieck. Casually slinging his arm around Dieck's waist, Rutger started walking toward the castle. “All right. Maybe when we're alone, you can tell me why you spend so much energy avoiding Clarine's brother.”

As he had expected, the suggestion caused all of the muscles under his hand to tighten, but Dieck continued to walk, a dry chuckle escaping as soon as they made it past the main doors.

“So you noticed, huh?”

Rutger rolled his eyes. “You're not a subtle man. Is this something I should know?”

“No. Not really,” the fond smile in Rutger's direction was full of the assurance that Dieck would try to sidestep any direct questions. “Klein's a reminder of things long past, that's all.”

“And if I asked him about you?”

Servants had heard their footsteps, obviously, as a boy hastened through the corridor, checking on torches, and leaving a trail of sputtering lights in his wake. Dieck glanced after him as the boy ran past, but they continued toward the barracks without a break in stride. “I'd rather you didn't.”

Rutger felt familiar fingers on his hip, and knew that even if Dieck was not fond of the questions, he wasn't objecting to the fact that Rutger was asking them. The real question was whether it was worth it to push. On the one hand what affected Dieck might end up affecting him. On the other, he was tired, and there were always other time to ask questions.

Rutger decided not to, though he couldn't help adding: “I'm not going to aid every scheme of yours to keep away from him. For one thing, it's too complicated.”

“Oh? Maybe that's good for you, though. Getting forced into people's lives, being left to deal with complication,” Dieck drew him in, pressing Rutger against the frame of the nearest bunk bed as he kissed the skin between his eyebrows.

Rutger took the attempt at subtlety for what it was, running a warning fingertip along Dieck's jaw, digging in the nail at the last second. “Don't make me care for people, and if you don't want me to complain,” Rutger paused significantly, before he reached up, wanting very much to see Dieck lick blood from his lips.

A loud cough interrupted what should have been a biting remark. Both mercenaries turned their heads as a bed creaked, and Astol climbed down from the top. The older man smiled at them crookedly as he reached the floor. “So, are you two just inconsiderate, or not much for privacy?”

Rutger slowly moved his hands down Dieck's shoulders, staring fixedly at Astol, waiting for the spy to blink. Apparently, hard stares had little effect on the man. Maybe thieves were inured against people daring them to make a move.

Rutger was almost ready to give way when Dieck's grip on his side tightened. “Just—didn't see you. We didn't think anyone would be here. Do you want us gone?”

“No, no, I'm clearing out. Lady Lilina probably is going to want the tome she was looking for this morning some time before the solstice. You two have fun. Warrior types rarely get much free time, after all, do they?”

They watched him glide out the door in silence. Rutger wondered at that parting shot, but he doubted that Astol's undoubtedly disreputable thoughts were any real concern of his. Winter was only going to be worse. Everyone stuck inside wherever they ended up making camp, enforced closeness with no privacy.

Dieck just sighed. “Well, that ruined the mood. Not that it was a great mood to begin with. Can we start over with more kissing?”

“I'm willing to postpone any conversation about Etrurian nobles,” Rutger agreed, running his fingers over old scars, before shoving Dieck towards the nearest weapons chest. He stalked toward his bed, unclipping his scabbard from his belt. When his weapon was properly stored in the cavernous space under the bed, Rutger turned, arms crossed as he waited for Dieck to regain his balance.

“You're never going to learn how to ask nicely, like 'hey, get off of me, my one track mind has discovered my bed' are you?” the big mercenary rubbed his shoulder as he approached Rutger.

Rutger frowned. “Do you want me to?”

Closing what little gap there was between them, Dieck encircled Rutger's waist, turning and pulling until he was sprawled on the bottom bunk, with Rutger on his lap. In the shadowy corner, Dieck reached up to tuck Rutger's hair behind an ear. “No. Luckily for you I'm not really breakable, and it's a bit of a rush. Also your enthusiasm's cute. I like not worrying about you.”

Rutger walked his fingers down Dieck's arm, trying to match each ripple and dip of skin with a scar he knew. “I thought you were worried about me and my sleeping habits.”

“That's just the big stuff. It's nice being with someone who doesn't make me worry about holding back. You're not any more breakable than I am,” Dieck's teeth flashed in a grin.

Rutger wanted to point out that Dieck had never tried to do anything but respond to his rough affection with lazy gentleness, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he was missing Dieck's point. Idly, he flexed his thighs around Dieck, wrenching a choked up guttural sound from Dieck's mouth. Rutger grinned at the unexpected victory, pressing down again, and pinning Dieck to the pallet with his hands.

“Hey, no fair,” Dieck muttered, both of his hands sliding over Rutger's knees, and pressing warmly as they searched upward. “I'm not even in my armor, but you're fully covered.”

“What you call battle armor is useless,” Rutger assured him, rolling his hips to push against those hands. “My clothing is keeping me warm.”

“Oh?” The amused taunt licked over him. “And what would you like to do after we get you out of those clothes then, hmm? How does a lone mercenary stay warm in autumn, anyway?”

Rutger lowered himself to rest his forearms against Dieck's shoulders and take the taunting mouth. The taste of possibilities hung in the air around them. It lingered on Dieck's tongue and danced across Rutger's lips even when he broke away. One of Dieck's hands had found the slit in Rutger's surcoat and was now vainly trying to find bare skin or the waistband of his trousers, while the other tangled in the too long belt, reminding Rutger of several passing fancies.

“Mmm. Do you mind being held down? I mean with rope or something. I know you said not in public, but would it be okay now?”

Rutger watched the earnest desire retreat in favor of thoughtfulness, but within a breath, Dieck had smirked. “Yeah. I used to like it a lot, actually.”

“Used to?”

“Haven't done it for a while,” Dieck shrugged. “Though if you tickle me, or take my money, I know where you sleep.”

“I'm leaving before dawn tomorrow, remember?” Rutger ran his fingers along the vibrant skin of Dieck's throat, waiting for the humming of his pulse.

In a few moments he would have all that scarred beauty of Dieck's back straining under his hands, and he could take the time to admire it, and sink his teeth in. Maybe Dieck would cry out again, the approval in his voice urging on another rush of victory.

Eagerly, maybe even a little too quickly, Rutger sat back up, undoing the buckle on his belt, and struggling to unwind it from his waist.

Dieck caught his wrist. “Just checking, but that's what you're planning to use, right?”

Rutger glanced at the long strip of leather. It was a good thing that Clarine was so generous in her own way, because he would never be able to return the belt. Still, it was leather. Rutger had never been tied up himself, but he had sudden images of rope burn on captured bandits haunting him. “Is that okay? Would it hurt you?”

“Don't tie it tightly,” Dieck advised, pushing himself up, and looking almost reluctant to leave the shadows of the lower bunk. “And if you're not doing it right, not to insult you or anything, but we'll be finding other ways to have fun. Okay, where do you want me?”

“Hands tied to the bed post,” Rutger was already taking off his surcoat, and wondered if his voice was clear enough through the heavy cloth, but once he was disentangled, Dieck had stretched out on his stomach, reaching for the post between the bunks.

Kneeling, Rutger surveyed the willing mercenary spread out beneath him. The scars, the movement of breathing, the whole physicality that Dieck carried with him left Rutger mesmerized. Dieck was there, filling space. Even the softest exhale from Rutger's own lungs seemed to be tentatively reaching, uncertain that there was a person before him, but excited by the prospect.

A chuckle broke his reverie. Dieck had turned his head toward Rutger, his eyes lit with a smile. “I like that face you've got on you at the moment. Much less murder and more surprise. It suits you.”

Better not to dignify that with a response. Rutger reached over, and began to loop the too long belt around Dieck's wrists, trying to leave some slack, but keep it tight enough that Dieck couldn't slip lose by accident. Rocking back on his heels to admire his work, Rutger passed a proud hand over Dieck's shoulder blade. “How is it?”

Tugging experimentally at the belt, Dieck pushed himself onto his knees and elbows, breathing hard, but turning his head to meet Rutger's eyes. “Good.”

Rutger's fingers tightened excitedly, trying to feel more of the strain beneath the skin. Dieck, usually so languid, felt tensed for a fight. All that power was now contained, and spilling through Dieck's skin to kiss at Rutger's fingertips.

As Rutger moved behind to climb onto the bed as well, the tight muscle under his palm began to shake. For an eye blink, Rutger froze, transported back to the battlements at Araphen, when Dieck's back went taut beneath him. Rutger dove forward, reaching for the knot around the bed post even as Dieck gasped out his name in a voice more usually reserved for mid-battle panic.

In a confused tangle of moments, Rutger found himself pushing a still shaking Dieck into a sitting position, and flinging the belt across the room. Gingerly, Rutger inspected Dieck's wrists. Red lines from where the leather had dug in against his pulling zagged across the blue of his veins, but the skin was not actually broken.

Rutger breathed out. “I should have had a knife handy. Dieck, are you—do you need me to get you anything?”

Dieck stared at his hands as Rutger let go of his wrists. Slowly he clenched and unclenched them. Looking up, he nodded over Rutger's shoulder to the head of the bed. “That pillow would be nice.”

Rutger handed the straw filled sack over, and paused, unsure if he should come closer or give Dieck his space. Lost, he watched Dieck curl around the pillow. In Rutger's place, the mercenary captain would have been all over the lone swordsman. Did that mean Dieck would like the same treatment?

Rutger edged nearer, trying to assess how best to wrap around his lover. Well, even if he was uncertain of physical contact, he had started this. The necessary words were almost easy to say, in comparison to last time he had needed to say it, but could not in front of the person he had wronged. “I'm sorry, Dieck.”

Dieck glanced over, a crooked, wary smile back on his face. “Thanks.”

They breathed out together. Rutger inched closer, aware of Dieck's eyes on him. “Do you want—should I hold you? Or would that be worse?”

“Mm,” the pillow became the focus of Dieck's attention. “Normally, actually, it's fun holding you. You're solid, and sometimes when you're quiet, I can hear you breathe or your heartbeat. All those human things,” he trailed off for a moment, before inching along the bed to bump against Rutger's hip. “Budge up. Let's see if you're any good at holding me.”

Rutger's back found a barely comfortable perch between the wall and the far bed post, but he decided he did not mind as Dieck crawled onto his lap, and sat back against his chest. Dieck sighed happily as Rutger tentatively wove his arms between the pillow and Dieck's torso.

Rutger waited, letting the rhythm of his breathing slide into Dieck's, as though it was a sword exercise. Once he found the pace, and held it, he felt ready to ask: “What went wrong?”

“When I couldn't see you, you could have been anyone,” Dieck began, before shaking his head. “Well, that and I was already having problems being tied up.”

Oh. Rutger felt his stomach drop. He should have known. Whatever Dieck had said, there had been signs of nervousness, and Rutger should have noticed those much earlier. He shouldn't even have proposed it. “I could have listened better. Can you tell me why? Does this have anything to do with that overseer person you told me about before?”

Dieck's hand left the pillow to run cautiously over Rutger's wrist, pinching at the fabric of his shirt. “What? Fuck no. Like I said, I used to really like being tied up. She was really good at pulling that thrill to the surface, too,” Dieck trailed off, nudging Rutger's cheek with his forehead. “This kind of talk isn't going to set you off, is it?”

“What?” Rutger blinked. Bern hadn't even been mentioned. “I generally don't bother having nightmares for living people.”

Dieck snorted. “I meant your 'grr, no one can have what is mine, but I shall pretend I don't care and withdraw,' act.”

“I do not do that.”

Dieck elbowed the curve of his hip. Rutger sighed. “I don't have time for jealousy when I'm trying to learn what I should never do again. Is that good enough?”

“You lie an awful lot for a Sacaen,” Dieck's mutter held more than a hint of laughter. “But okay, I'll trust you to know yourself. It's not like this has anything to do with well spent moments of self discovery, anyway,” Dieck's chest rose and fell with a particularly deep, steadying breath. “You know those burn circles on my right side you always glare at?”

Rutger could see one of them now, peeking over the curve of Dieck's shoulder, slightly paler in the shadows than the rest of Dieck's skin. “I always glare at them?”

“Well, I catch you at it a lot,” Dieck amended. “I got them when I was trying to convince a very angry lord that there were no other reinforcements for my recently slaughtered troops, and even if I couldn't pay the ransom for my life, the mercenary guild I had joined would be able to cover the cost of getting me back alive, with all extremities attached. Most of the convincing involved being tied to tables while hot fire irons were applied unexpectedly to test my sincerity.”

Rutger tried to control the angry twitch of his fingers with minor success. Dieck's hand on one sleeve helped to ground him. So many little things made sense now—the wariness when it came to anyone styled a lord, Dieck's indifference to his own past, probably even his lack of attachment to a place—and Rutger was incapable of doing anything about these hurts. “I don't suppose it would help if I swore vengeance against this lord.”

Dieck bumped his forehead into Rutger's cheek once more, though the familiar fondness was creeping back into his voice. “Nah. Border lords who make enemies like he did generally aren't long for this world. He wasn't to blame, anyway. My employer at the time didn't see the need to keep mercenaries alive if he could save on money and save his own skin.”

The dark cynicism lifted suddenly, as though Dieck felt he was getting too wrapped up in the demons of earlier years. Possibly he felt Rutger had too much in common with that darkness. “And hey, I got out with life and limb attached. I just went back there for a bit, when I realized I couldn't slip that belt off and throw you across the room if hot irons were suddenly in the picture. Don't take this the wrong way: I love what you do to me, and I know you'd never do anything I didn't want, but I also like knowing I can stop you, if I need to.”

“And everything I suggested made that impossible. What a terrible way to spend our time off,” Rutger supplied.

The pillow dropped over Rutger's thigh as Dieck turned fully onto his side, his arms sneaking out to wrap around Rutger's torso. Dieck tilted his head to look at Rutger. “I don't know. I kind of like this bit. And I wanted to like the other part. It figures this would happen just when you were looking so cute, too.”

The bitter sigh that accompanied this remark left Rutger confused. “I can't really see why you would want to bother with it. Whatever it might look like, I try to avoid situations that remind me of what happened in Bulgar. If you agreed to being tied up because I wanted it, don't ever do that again.”

The sigh was joined by an exasperated snort. “Maybe we were having different conversations, but I told you: I liked being tied up and restrained like that. I wanted to try it out again for _me_. Having you along for the ride was just the fun of having someone I trust bring me through it.

“I've always been into the intensity of feelings bottled up and unleashed, right? It's like that moment in the arena after you've fought and you realize you've won just as the crowd breaks into applause. I like those perfect moments, and being tied down used to bring a lot of that together for me all at once, so, well, I'd like to be able to do it again. One of the things that pisses me off is that it's been almost twelve years and I still can't shake being afraid of something that felt good.”

Twelve years was hardly a turning of a calendar. “You _seem_ to be doing very well—but I should know that can always be an illusion,” Rutger began. He tried running his free hand through Dieck's hair for a moment, but pulled back into the hug, guessing that being petted like a trail dog was not really all that comforting. “Does it still haunt you?”

“Every day, you mean? Not much, anymore. That's part of what bugs me about it. I've got a life I can live, and I don't see why those weeks, out of all the things I've seen, get to lurk like shadows. At least the priests were right when they said time and continuing onward was going to help me.”

“A priest was helpful with a spiritual matter, wonders will never cease,” Rutger chuckled dryly. “You needn't sound so surprised.”

“I'm not much of one for spirit type thinking,” Dieck replied. “I don't know much about Sacae, but Etruria's church isn't known for its love of either peasants or mercenaries.”

Words from the bathhouse echoed back to Rutger. He suddenly felt guilty. “I thought the prayers of Elimine were for everyone. Saul might get a little side tracked on the beauty of his saint and her congregation, but he's fairly clear on that point.”

“Yeah, well, it's always seemed like those prayers were for the merchants who could afford it. But, a good mercenary guild brings in money, and you can find the Dorothys of the priesthood if you look hard enough. What is it like in Sacae? You just walk up to a temple or something, and say: 'hey, I need to talk to someone, and find out what I can do to fix everything?'”

“Maybe,” Rutger's fingers strayed through Dieck's hair. “Every tribesman knows how to listen to the voices of the world, but when that isn't enough, there are the shamans, and every permanent settlement has a hermitage or monastery near by. But the kind of guidance you're talking about is central to the way of living with the world. That's not a good way to explain it, I suppose. Um, the world is filled with spirits—beings beyond humanity—that the worthy can commune with. A big part of healing is becoming part of that, which means going beyond your humanity yourself. A teacher can guide you, and monks will do all they can to help, but it's a life long path. If you walk up to the temple, you had better be prepared to commit yourself to seeking wholeness.”

“Well, that's something,” Dieck murmured. He press his cheek against Rutger's chest, resting so quietly that Rutger wondered if he had dozed off. However, at length Dieck raised his head again. “I think I like it when you're allowed to go on with your regular life, though.”

“Oh, you can do that,” Rutger assured him, “but you wanted to fix everything. That needs time and dedication.”

“Ah. The short version is pretty similar, then. A few prayers for Father Sky, and then down to the brass tacks of talking about things you can't stand and figuring out how to continue living?” Dieck asked.

“Mother Earth usually handles those things,” Rutger couldn't help needling, before hastily adding: “but I assume as much.”

The shadowed quiet settled over them. Rutger realized his breathing had fallen out of sync with Dieck's, but with the mercenary pressed against his chest once more, Rutger suspected Dieck was just listening, and he did not need to treat this like a delicate partnered sword dance. Finally, Dieck shifted against Rutger once more, rolling onto his stomach, and propping himself up on his elbows. The expression he fixed Rutger with was calculating. “Did you mean that you've never talked to any monk or shaman or whatever about your decision to destroy Bern single-handedly?”

“There aren't many teachers left alive between Bulgar and the Talivar mountains,” Rutger pointed out, before adding: “And I don't have a lifetime to dedicate to myself, even if I could find someone willing to guide an outsider to peace. The dead have to be put to rest first.”

“I agree,” Dieck said, in a voice that Rutger knew meant he did not have the faintest inkling what he was agreeing to. Still, Dieck also meant every word, and at this point, Rutger would have to be a whole lot cleverer than he was to dissuade the stubborn man. “But I don't think that should stop you from finding someone who can help set you on your path more easily.”

“And where exactly do I find someone to confide in on these cold lonely rocks? Lady Sue is the closest person to being properly in step with the world around her, and she has her own grief.”

“Sue?” Dieck repeated, obviously startled. “Isn't she a bit—vague? But I was actually thinking of people a little more familiar with helping others through tough times.”

Rutger stared ahead, knowing what Dieck was going to say. “No.”

“I know you aren't going to like the idea, but they are trained for it. Both Sister Ellen and Brother Saul. Hellfires, Dorothy probably knows a few things.”

“Exactly how do I tell Sister Ellen that the memory of her countrymen slaughtering everyone I know has been the fuel for countless fantasies where I separate her beloved liege lady's head from her body?” Rutger asked darkly. “Fun as it is to bait good Brother Saul, do you honestly think he can keep from proselytizing long enough to be helpful?”

“I don't know, but you might try it,” Dieck said, his expression unyielding. “If nothing else, you might have a few more nights of uninterrupted sleep. I know you were fine the night we took this fortress. Telling me what happened didn't help with that?”

That much was true. It had been such a relief just to talk to Dieck. Speaking with men and women who were called to serve and teach mankind could hardly be worse. But Elimineans—did he have to turn to the ways of Bern to drive away the memories eating at him? The idea was repulsive. “I'll think about it.”

Dieck eyeballed him. Rutger held up his hands. “I'll think about it. If I get stuck on the same part of the ship while we travel south, I might even take that as a sign.”

That seemed to mollify Dieck. He subsided, sitting up and picking up the forgotten pillow. “Even if you can't trust them, you can trust me, you know. I trust you.”

Rutger couldn't help a short burst of laughter. “You trust a man, who can't even handle seeing a wyvern without losing his temper and taking it out on the nearest unsuspecting knights.”

“Hey, you keep your problems confined to the battlefield and your sleep, at least. I brought mine into bed with us,” Dieck pointed out. “You figured out what was going on, and stopped it before it went too far. I call that trust well placed.”

He reached out, pulling Rutger from the wall, and onto his lap once more. His arms wrapped around Rutger as though they had grown around Rutger like a tree. The kiss held lingering hints of salt, probably from Rutger's lips. Pins and needles shot through one of Rutger's legs as he shifted to better straddle Dieck. “You know, one of my legs is asleep.”

“Sorry.”

“Thank you,” Rutger kissed Dieck again. “And you'll tell me if we're even thinking of going too far for you.”

“Of course,” Dieck threaded his fingers through Rutger's hair.

“I mean it.”

“I do, too. I'll yell 'stop' really loudly. And throw you across the room. Now, can we please take advantage of the fact no one has come back here, yet?”

Biting Dieck's bottom lip, Rutger decided that would have to do. If this was what Dieck wanted, he was hardly going to object.


	11. Castle Idina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rutger needs to change the direction of his path, but doing so requires thinking beyond the destruction of Bern. Dieck needs to confront the past he has been avoiding, but that might change the life he has managed to make. They try to make some plans for after the war in the middle of a battle.

The western islands had too much love of the sea in Rutger's opinion. They allowed themselves to be breached by water at the most inconvenient moments, creating smaller islands connected to the ostensible mainland by bridges of dubious stability. Castle Idina was protecting the seaward edge of a harbor created by several of these smaller islands and a larger rocky protrusion into the Etrurian sea where the castle sat, over looking the fragile network of bridges that attached those islands to the rest of Caledonia.

A small cascade of pebbles from farther up the hill caused the scree to slip under Rutger's feet. As soon as his balance returned, he stilled, staring through the night time darkness towards the solitary bulk of Castle Idina, perched on the coastline like a brooding wolf. No more lights had been added, and the alarm horn had stopped sounding when the bulk of Roy's army had set up their huge bonfire on the far beach of the next island. From the clashing sounds that still drifted on the wind to the party sneaking towards the back of the castle, the Etrurian forces were well engaged with the majority of the army, and believed their escaped prisoners were heading right to it.

Which was good, as lumpy shapes and soft movements in the darkness indicated that the last group of prisoners was heading directly for the rescue corridor that Klein's group had secured. Rutger slid ahead hoping to get around the approaching men and check that they were not in fact soldiers stumbling onto the escape route unsuspected. The last group had been hard to kill without making any noise that might have alerted the castle.

Now Rutger was just glad that Shin and Sue's horses were making less noise than he was. On the firm ground of the lower trail, he had expected their hooves to ring out, but it seemed this was not the case. That was lucky, for Clarine's pony could be heard and had gotten them into an ambush on the island closest to the mainland that afternoon.

Rutger slid around the small group in the dark, eyes searching for the betraying flashes of metal that signaled weapons. Clear. The sound of a night jar, which was his signal to the rest of the party, startled the men and women shambling through the stoney darkness.

The cursing and shhing had enough Isles roughness in it that Rutger was fairly certain these weren't Etrurian soldiers. He might not be able to hear much of a difference between Dieck and Klein, but there was a degree of separation between Klein and Wade's accents.

Shin and Sue moved like ghosts, Klein only just ahead of them, revealing himself with the help of a semi covered lantern. Rutger tensed, eying the castle. This was the worst part. The entire shale slope of the beach was exposed. They were a long way from the castle, but the light, and voices heard at the wrong minute could spell the end for this group, and the earlier clumps of people making their way to the mainland with the help of pegasus relays, and a watchful party of knights stationed on the far shore.

“Don't worry. We're here to take you to safety. We're working with the resistance,” Klein repeated for the last time that night, when everyone had seen him, and he felt it time to close the dark lantern again.

Torches moved along the castle wall, but there was no betraying cry. Rutger breathed out a sigh of relief—battle yells echoed up the beach from the lone bridge to the island where the army lay in wait. More torches flashed on the ramparts. But no klaxon rang, Rutger squinted at the castle. He thought he heard grinding—

“They're raising the portcullis on the back gate,” he said, sprinting back to the group of cowed prisoners and surrounded fighters.

“Clarine, Fir!” Klein hissed, pointing down the rocky beach toward the bridge. “Protect the pegasus riders. Sue, Shin, you take the prisoners. Rutger and I will remain here to provide a distraction, and then move after you.”

“Klein! They might be sending tons troops,” Clarine protested, even as Fir struggled up onto her saddle.

“And we'll hold them off of all of us until we can regroup,” Klein assured her. “Get going, and find out what is going on. Once things are settled, I expect you both at my side. Sue, Shin, you are their back up, but these people are your first priority. Come on, Rutger, let's try to find some cover.”

There wasn't any cover in the traditional sense. Idina perched on a rocky island spit into the sea, along with a few other small islands that protected a large harbor. The Castle itself had a well used dock, but the land held nothing but rock and dirt in various configurations. For now, Rutger and Klein held the high ground of a low hill, were dressed for the night work, and had not been near the light sources of the castle, which probably gave their night vision an edge.

But as shadows thickened and moved, one patch of deep gray looking more solid than the drowned depths of blue around it—too far away to hear metal clank or cloth rustle—Rutger would guess that they were well outnumbered, and their only real hope was not to be seen in the dark. The other lucky thing was that with those numbers, this squad was slow in getting out of the castle, and possibly were just milling at the outer side of the portcullis now

Klein put a hand on Rutger's arm, and padded off the trail to the right for a bit. “If they come toward us, take the lantern and plant it somewhere awkward as a distraction. Maybe we can keep them running over the beach, whittling them down before we retreat. At the very least it gives me something to shoot at.”

“As the person holding the lantern, I'm not reassured,” Rutger pointed out, though he gripped his sword with a smile. The plan was good. They only needed time for the reinforcements to return.

“I'll pretend that's the rousing voice of confidence in my aim,” shouting and a clash echoed from the north. Klein breathed out, looking over his shoulder quickly. “No spell work at least.”

“That means the pegasus riders are getting attacked without back up.”

“Captain Tate is more than capable. I would bet she could hold the bridge by herself,” for a moment, Klein remained a close dark blot with gray smudges delineating his most prominent features, but doing little over all to define him. Finally he sighed. “You know, Clarine has come a long way, but when I last saw her, she was just a little girl, getting in trouble for taking the journals on human anatomy from Father's library and never returning them. Now she has been fighting in a war for the last half year, and traveling on her own since winter.”

She was not the only one, Rutger thought, but he was not a twelve year old girl, and had years of experience to fall back upon. Besides, there was a cold kind of steel behind Klein's words. Not that he would share with Rutger the thoughts passing through his mind. Klein's thoughts were other places, and they were his own. Rutger preferred Clarine's direct way of saying exactly what was on her mind.

The paler blot of Klein's hair shifted, suddenly, looking to the right, at some of the rising ground. “Rutger,” he breathed, “did you hear the way our voices echoed?”

“I'll move away,” Rutger decided, realizing that the oncoming troops probably had heard him as well. “Do you want them led towards the sea?”

“No. Towards the land. We don't want to give them any idea of where we really are by cutting off one possible direction. But listen to the echo. It sounds as though I'm speaking somewhere to the left. If they figure out where I'm sniping them from, can you make some noise to confuse them? They're not going to fall for 'head to the right, boys,' or instructions like that, but—”

“The sound of a sniper moving along shale will be something they're listening for,” Rutger agreed. “And if they catch up with me, this is exactly my kind of fight.”

“Heavily out numbered, lost in the dark, and possibly getting shot at by your own side?”

Rutger tallied up the reality of their situation. “I don't get lost in the dark. Try not to shoot me.”

Klein chuckled darkly. “I think I prefer working with mercenaries who have a healthy respect for their own skins, and a practical approach to optimism.”

It would be too easy to suggest that Klein go find Dieck. But that would be too much like going behind Dieck's back. If time was place, the past would be a different land from Dieck's perspective, one that he was about as willing to step into as any person from the south was willing to step into Ilia in midwinter. Besides, it was very likely that Klein was thinking of Captain Tate, who also fit the description, or perhaps he had no one particular in mind.

Rutger shrugged, a movement that was almost certainly lost in the night gloom. The sound of feet on shale was getting closer. For a brief moment the northern horizon flashed, and that signaled surprised cries from the oncoming soldiers.

Rutger wanted to curse. Of course they would be attracted by distant combat magic more than the off chance of hearing the echoes of Klein's words. He grabbed the lantern from Klein, and ran towards the beach, looping around the squad of soldiers as fast as he could. He only hoped he was making enough noise to bring their attention on him before he flipped open the hatch on the dark lantern, and started moving around behind the merry band.

“Now, who's trying to get away from the generous—” the interrogation broke off in a scream.

“Captain!”

The soldiers floundered for a second, becoming a mass shadow of many limb-like tendrils against the lighter shades of the surrounding beach, but the scrape of swords being drawn sent a shiver of anticipation down Rutger's spine. Another man screamed, so loudly that Rutger barely registered the twanging thwok of a bowstring just before the agony.

Unfortunately, someone in the dark had brains and enough command status to use them. “Hold! There's a sniper. He's probably using the light to aim by.”

Well, that distraction was up. Rutger stopped his circuit, and then tossed the lantern right at the squad. It hit someone with a meaty thud, causing a surprised “Ow!” followed by another scream, as Klein took down another target. Rutger shuffled to the side, trying to make it sound as though Klein was moving, although there was enough whimpering going on as the soldiers dealt with their new arrow decorations that his efforts might have been for nothing.

“I think I see him, boss,” one of the soldiers muttered, and the squad suddenly scattered, leaving only the lump of a fallen man.

Two rushed at Rutger out of the dark, swords ready for his defensive parry, and more than capable of driving him back. Every step that gave ground pushed Rutger down the path toward the castle and better illumination, while his opponents had the slight rise of the hill on their side. As Rutger slid left, a broadsword would come hurtling for his guts, and his low crouch to escape it only put him in the path of the second soldier. All the while, he could hear other shouts and cries in the night and knew Klein was as pinned down as he.

With a tremendous crash, a bolt of lightning shot down, crisping the soldier with the broadsword, and leaving Rutger's skin tingling in the aftermath of the blast from only two sword lengths away. His other opponent, barely any further back from the blast than Rutger, froze for an instant. Rutger was on him in a flash, slicing through the green dots that tried to drown the myrmidon's vision. Rutger's blade edge scraped across leather armor, but he hacked again, willing to give up finesse in exchange for taking advantage of the stunned surprise.

The gurgling cry of his enemy was swallowed by a second burst of lightning, flashing through the air somewhere up the hill. As Clarine was illuminated nearly half way between Rutger and where he thought Klein was, waving her staff with determined anger, Rutger wondered who had decided that giving her a thunder tome was a good idea. It might have saved his skin, but the bright light and noise of the blasts were not needed right now. Still, the glaring green after effects of her attack had given him something to navigate by.

Pulling his sword from the fallen soldier's neck, Rutger dashed toward the mounted mage, and neatly walked into someone else's arm.

“—ho's that?” the voice was faint, but Rutger thought he recognized the bright tones.

“Fir? It's Rutger.”

“Oh thank goodness! Clarine, I've got Rutger! Have you found Klein, yet?”

“Of course! Now, are there any more of the blackguards running around?”

Blackguards? Rutger wanted to raise his eyebrows and might even have done so. Fir coughed. “Not that I could see.”

“Thank you very much for saving us, Clarine,” Klein had the flat loudness in his voice of the recently deafened. “Your intervention was timely. However, stop using thunder tomes. Your elegant fireballs will do. We'll be totally night blind, otherwise. Can anyone see what they're doing at the castle?”

Clarine's voice dripped with excited pride. “Oh I can! There are a lot of torches on the battlements, and I think the outer gate is still up.”

“Well,” Klein's voice was already regaining its normal inflections, and sounded resigned, “they know we're out here by now. Did the escapees get away at least?”

“Er, I should probably talk to you about that,” Fir coughed from Rutger's side. From the way her clothing rustled, she probably was shifting her feet guiltily. “Um, that battle we walked in on, it turns out that some of the prisoners escaped before we got into position—I don't think it was part of Bard Elphin's plans—anyway, they and were hiding out in caves slightly more inland, and managed to find some mercenaries who had been blown ashore on the other side of the island,” she trailed off, but the patient silence from Klein grew to be too much, and Fir hastily hurried onward. “Anyway, that battle we heard was the mercenaries thinking Captain Tate and Thany were part of the Idina guards, and our forces thinking the mercenaries were from the castle, and, well, everything got sorted out when we arrived, but anyway, the mercenaries are helping to escort the remaining prisoners, along with Sin, Sue and the pegasus knights, but they'll probably be back soon to help us. Are we retreating still?”

Klein sighed. That sigh said a lot of things about night campaigns, mix ups, and unknown mercenary forces. Rutger, used to children lying by omission and hoping that their parents did not catch them at such a despicable practice, wondered what Fir was holding back when her voice strained to relate the story of the mercenaries.

He did not have to wait long to find out, however, as Clarine's basic honesty barreled through Fir's story. “We should retreat just a bit. Think about what you said to your father, Fir. Both he and Tate will be expecting us much nearer the bridge.”

“Your father,” Klein began.

“Ah, he's um, leading the mercenaries,” Fir muttered, before deciding that this didn't sound like a rousing vote of confidence. “He's a steady shot with a bow and a very good axe user. He's just a bit,” Rutger was sure she was waving her hands vaguely as she trailed off.

“Loud,” Clarine made no bones about it. “But he's very nice, Klein. Anyway, I think you can leave taking care of any more soldiers from the castle to me. But there's such a lot of milling about, right now. Why did sun down have to happen so quickly?”

Because it was autumn and tracking around to the north bridges had taken an egregiously long time, Rutger wanted to say, but didn't. A lot of things had not gone according to plan, but they were in position to repel any more soldiers from the castle, and the main objective, securing the villagers, had been achieved. Even his night vision was beginning to come back, as he could now see the lighter blurs of Clarine's dappled gray pony without too many color blotches sleeting across it to make it invisible.

Klein had been crouching on the ground, but now stood, his decisions made. “We'll retreat back to the bridge until the rescue group comes back, but keep an eye on the castle. They have to have more soldiers, and are probably expecting us to come around back. When the pegasus riders return, we will have to ask Roy what he needs for his plans, but I think once we secure the back gate of the castle, it's to be a real siege.”

“By real siege are we talking our usual day and a bit affairs, or ancient sagas where everyone's eating horses and human legs by the end of them sieges?” Fir wanted to know.

“Less ancient sagas, and more a few weeks,” Klein amended with a chuckle. With a crunch he began walking for the bridge, pulling the rest of the group along, as it was either walk with him, or lose him in the dark.

“We could get lucky though,” Fir reflected. “Bard Elphin said the supply ship is supposed to arrive at dawn, so that would mean the fort is really under supplied. It isn't as though there's a whole lot of edible food on this island. They could be starved out within eight or nine days, hopefully.”

For a moment the wind whistled coldly around the small group as Klein's footsteps stopped, forcing the rest to stop with him. Rutger knew the sound of Klein thinking at this point, and would bet that the young general had disappeared under a frown of concentration.

“Good point. We're probably best positioned to take the harbor. If Roy could get one of the archers on that mountain balistae we took out this afternoon, there should be enough shots left to at least make sailing treacherous for the resupply galley. I wish I could confer with Roy and Bard Elphin about this. I didn't even know we had a precise arrival time for the galley.”

“What I don't understand is why no one has come up with a magical way to talk to other people at the other end of a battlefield,” Clarine grumbled, taking Rutger aback with the absolute brilliance of the suggestion. “Oh, the fireball code that Lilina taught me should be useful if we're ever overwhelmed. But it's not as though you can pass complex information through fireballs. And we've had a lot of splitting up in our recent battles, where people had to rush from one area to another very fast, and it seems to me, someone would have figured out something a little more clever by now.”

Silence greeted this remark, before her brother shifted slightly, his quiver slapping a little ominously. “Couriers are the most reliable way. The crown tried something with dark magicians a while ago. It was not successful after the first few tries.”

“You mean their souls got sucked into the void,” Clarine stated, as though she was talking about the weather. “Lady Lilina and Lugh found some really gruesome warnings in the backs of their older tomes while we were learning how to control anima. But it does mean that it is possible to speak across distances with magic. Someone should have figured out how to make it happen so that it doesn't wreck people.”

“Well, no one has,” Fir said after a long moment of digesting this information. “Anyway, we already have a lot to sort out.”

“Which we'll do, at the bridge,” Klein decided, getting the group moving again.

Rutger noticed the clear glint of water to the right before he realized that they had reached the place where the island rose into a small cliff above the waves. He nearly stumbled into Fir again, when she stopped with the rest of the party. She laughed as she righted him.

“Lost in your own thoughts?”

“A little,” basic honestly pulled from his mouth.

Rutger didn't really want to admit to having been less than observant, but the idea that magic might replace couriers was preying on his mind. Battle mages already drew a sizable purse in mercenary operations, and if someone figured out how to turn them into couriers as well, it might make more mages turn mercenary, or harm those mercenary companies who did not have battle mages in them. As far as he understood it, Dieck was part of a larger guild based in Ilia, which put together companies of independent mercenaries for hire.

Rutger had been considering, in a general way, what the future could look like for him. He did not want to have to compete with magicians for that future. Not that he entirely embraced any future after Bern.

Fir's light blur of jacket moved until the girl had a clear line of sight to the castle. “I don't think they're sending out more troops. Not yet, anyway. Why did you and Klein split up? Isn't that risky in the dark?”

“Less risky when there are only two people. And we were out numbered at least three to one, if I was counting rightly. In those circumstances, confusion is the best that a small group can hope to achieve. Klein's plan was basically sound, until we were overwhelmed. It was too bad that more of the squad didn't go for me.”

Fir continued monitoring the castle. “You're so intense. I'm glad that there are other ways to live.”

“If there was only one path to walk, there wouldn't be much use in living,” Rutger regretted the response as too philosophical, but that brought a laugh to Fir.

“You really do sound just like my uncle. My mother, too, I guess.”

“Thank you for that.” Rutger always aspired to remind people of their mothers.

His opinion must have showed in his voice, because Fir hastily back pedaled. “No, no! I meant that as a compliment. It's a, a very Sacaen turn of phrase. That's all. You reminded me of them.”

It was almost sweet of Fir, and certainly amusing to hear her panic a little. Rutger gave in to the flash of dark humor, and kept his tone severe. “Oh, so that's the only way I'll ever accept a compliment? Appeal to being Sacaen?”

“I didn't mean it like—are you making a joke?” The shrewdness in Fir's voice suggested that she had been either hanging around Thany and Wolt too often, or dealing with Wade, all three being possessed of a certain teasing sense of humor, though in Wolt's case, Rutger supposed that only showed up when lords weren't in evidence.

“It passes the time,” Rutger shrugged, though he knew she couldn't see the move. “But you can continue trying to compliment me by comparing me to relatives of yours that I've never met.”

“I don't think I will,” Fir said slowly. “Not that I don't want to compliment you, obviously. Your sword technique is still the height of elegance and my ambition. But compliments aren't likely to get me any closer to understanding that technique.”

“It's fairly simple,” Rutger muttered, wishing that he was better at making this clear to Fir. “Cut to kill.”

“I know you don't think I'm serious about this, but—”

Rutger sighed. “'Great swordsmanship' isn't a profession, and killing people to show off—”

“I don't do that,” Fir sounded like steel. “When, during any of the battles where we've fought alongside each other, have I concentrated on elegance above getting the job done? Just because I use my sword at moments when life and death is not on the line, you shouldn't dismiss it. Don't think I haven't seen you challenge Captain Dieck for practice. When you think about it, it's not that different from what I'm trying to do. You're keeping your skills sharp through those bouts, and I'm trying to gain new skills when I challenge people. I know you don't think much of my way of learning, but you're right: there are more ways out there to learn swordsmanship.”

Trust his words and actions to come back to bite him. Rutger felt very small, suddenly too aware of his insignificance in the dark, swallowed in the washing of the sea and the waves. “My way of seeing things is never going to be your way,” he managed. “And the same goes for me. I have been harsh, too much so.”

Fir was quiet for a long while. Rutger imagined her vibrating in righteousness. But when she spoke, she just sounded exasperated and tired. “You really don't know how to say 'sorry' do you?”

“It's like having my teeth pulled,” Rutger managed, getting a dry chuckle out of the young mercenary.

“Excuse me,” Klein interrupted, probably saving Rutger from digging a deeper hole for himself. “Who did you say Rutger sparred with?”

Saving Rutger from digging a hole for himself, but, Rutger thought, probably not saving Dieck from coming to Klein's attention. Well, every escape had to end at some point. Here it was going to end by Fir's natural helpfulness.

“Captain Dieck? He's the leader of the mercenaries Thany—Captain Tate's little sister—works for. Rutger often challenges him. He's the one who carries that large sword.”

“He walks around without armor,” Clarine further clarified. “It's rather unfortunate, since he is so clumsy. Half the time, he's covered in bruises and scratches from bumping into things.”

Rutger managed to bury his laughter in his sleeve. Not that he would ever try to change Clarine's mind, but he would hate to know what piece of furniture or architecture could leave the kinds of fresh scratches Dieck sported. Maybe she imagined that Dieck had made an enemy of one of the horses or the pegasi.

Fir coughed violently.

“Oh,” Klein said slowly. “I think I know who you're talking about. A tall man, generally running off to do things? Well, I'll keep on the look out. I don't suppose you know him well, Clarine?”

“Not really. He looks very familiar, though, if you know what I mean. I think he has that kind of face,” Clarine sighed. “And of course, he's got a hint of peasant accent. But a lot of mercenaries come from common backgrounds.”

“As do many bards,” Klein muttered.

“Are you talking about Elphin, brother? Oh no, he speaks perfectly well. I was so surprised, really, when I expected him to sound like Wade,” Clarine paused for a moment, considering. “Of course, he probably has had to spy on nobles a lot. Remember when the Prince's music tutor was turned out because he was in the pay of the Boulains? Lord Erk made it sound so funny when he was telling Mama.”

“Lord Erk has to make such stories sound amusing when he's relating them at parties,” Klein sounded very very old, like an oak tree, talking to an acorn. “It's the only acceptable way to speak of things like the court's insistence on stealing Mildain's childhood.”

“Well, normally I wouldn't approve of spying,” Clarine declared, “but Bard Elphin's work has been helpful, so I suppose I can make an exception, this time.”

Klein shifted uncomfortably, as though his tunic was caught on something. “You're learning pragmatism so early. Maybe court presentation isn't as far off as Mama and Papa had thought.”

Rutger glanced towards Fir's pale shirt. She knew much more of the world outside the plains than he did, after all. His understanding of what 'court' meant was obviously not sufficient for the conversation that the siblings were having. However, Clarine obviously did not think that her understanding was sufficient either, and changed the subject.

“The castle is taking an awfully long time to investigate the fight we just had,” her whole voice had turned into a disapproving frown. “What do you think they could be doing?”

“Running around trying to find their missing prisoners?” Fir suggested optimistically.

“Well, once you realize people are gone, there's not much to do on the inside of a castle,” Clarine's pragmatism, as her brother put it, was at least grounded in practical logic, as far as Rutger was concerned. “There are only so many places twenty four people can hide, even in a large fortress. Fibernia's fort was much bigger than Castle Idina, and our army was bumping into itself all the time. So, if I were the commander, I'd know my prisoners weren't in the castle, I'd also know that there were troops somewhere in the back, as well as the army on the further shore—so why am I not making any moves?”

“It's too dark to safely gauge the strength of the enemy, and if I'm about to be under siege, I don't want to throw away my troops into the unknown?” Fir suggested, taking to imagining herself as the commander of the castle with gusto.

“Well, that's possible,” Clarine agreed. “But I'm also the person who sent out a squad of eight soldiers into the dark, possibly to track down the missing prisoners, when I heard there was a commotion—”

Fir interrupted. “No, that's not right. None of the soldiers had lights. If they were after the prisoners, they would have wanted to track them. Rutger, Sue and Shin might know how to track in the dark before the moon has risen, but that's not a common skill for Etrurian soldiers, now is it?”

“That's right! It _was_ strange,” Clarine thumped the cantle of her saddle loudly, causing her poor night blind pony to stamp unhappily. “So, why would I be sending out a party of soldiers without lights? I want to take someone by surprise. But, I can't know that we're here—”

“But I do know exactly where the besieging camp is, thanks to the large bonfire General Roy built,” Fir finished for her. “I'm trying to send out very quiet scouts.”

“And now I know there is more of the army, out here in the dark, with some magic,” Clarine declared triumphantly. “So, I need to determine how many enemies are out here. Maybe I'm counting up the army I can see, and trying to guess from my reports how many aren't with the bonfire group. And I'm probably readying a scouting party, to confirm my guesses.”

Klein chuckled. “Careful, Clarine. You'll wind up getting recruited to being an officer if you keep thinking about battles this way. That was good work, from both you and Fir. I hadn't thought about the lack of lights carried by our attackers.”

Fir's voice was filled with pride. “Well, I have been trying to listen to Sir Lance's lectures. He's very fond of this kind of thing, and I figure that if I continue as a mercenary when this war is over, I should be more knowledgeable about mercenary things.”

“So this isn't a small break in arena training for you?” Rutger observed dryly.

In a flash of light gray, Fir tried to elbow him, as though he was Thany, or Wolt. Her elbow fell wide of the mark, however, and Rutger just wished that she could see exactly how unimpressed he was by that response. “I thought you were done looking down your nose about that. Anyway, I don't see why I can't both train to become the greatest swordsman in Elibe and be a mercenary. I mean, I started this because I wanted to carry on family tradition, but mercenary work is in my family, too. Even my uncle has had to earn money occasionally during his travels.”

Some of the speculation that had been plaguing Rutger since Clarine had mentioned that Fir carried a Wo Dao quieted. It was possible that such a family had been able to commission a Wo Dao in the long past, and it had been passed down. Maybe if Rutger was more familiar with the arena circuit, he would have heard of Fir's mother, who had apparently made her living exclusively through arena prizes, and have more knowledge of the truth to the Wo Dao rumor. It was unlikely to have come to Fir through her father's family, after all.

However, it was impolite to ask if she happened to be carrying a legendary sword as her secondary weapon. Not to mention, if Fir was wielding a Wo Dao, she probably had a lot of people more interested in the sword than the person who carried it, as she was still learning her art. In the end, Rutger decided, there was no use in being covetous of a blade when he already knew its bearer, and was friends with her.

“What's this?” Someone called loudly, a booming voice that must echo across the water. “Be you members of young Roy's army?”

Fir groaned. “Dad—please, it's us. Is everyone else with you? Um, Dad, this is Klein, former General of Etruria, now acting under general or something in the army. He's in command right now, anyway. Klein, this is my father, uh—”

“Call me Bartre,” the man boomed again, probably near enough to clap Klein on the back while giving him the kind of handshake that would break his fingers, if Klein wasn't hidden by the night. His voice left that impression of unpleasantly active heartiness.

Clarine muttered something. Despite the fact that it was unintelligible, Rutger agreed with it on principal. Forthright was one thing, giving away troop positions was another. Besides, opinionated as Clarine was, her opinions were not targeted to belittle anyone, as far as Rutger had seen, so it was generally never wrong to agree with them.

Wind rushed softly over their heads, slightly louder than a swooping owl, but not enough for a comfortable warning when Rutger looked up to see the two white pegasi land only a short way ahead of the bridge. The war animals clattered on the shale, stamping a bit with nerves, Rutger would guess, but otherwise the landing was an eerie contrast of silence to the strange mercenary's arrival.

The darker smudges of Tate and Thany, out of their standard issue pegasus knight tunics in exchange for the darker tunics favored by the Ilian mercenaries of Sir Zealot's squad when out of armor, swiftly descended over the wings of their mounts. As soon as they were no longer silhouetted against the pegasi, both knights disappeared, only to re-emerge as disembodied voices by Clarine's bridle.

“General Klein,” Tate's respectful tones when whispered came out with a strange inflection, as though she was strangling another friendlier woman in the name of staying quiet. “Shin and Sue are bringing more lanterns. But the pegasi are nearly blind as soon as we leave the light of the bonfire. It's making them more nervous than I would like.”

“And forcing them into a fight where they would only be able to smell blood would only make matters worse. I should have guessed that,” Klein agreed. “I need you two on courier duty, anyway. There is a resupply galley coming at dawn, as I understand. If we want the siege here to break quickly, and we can't afford to either leave the army here to continue their deeds, or to waste enough time with them that the Governor of the Isles finds out that we have been cutting off his military support, we have to take the harbor, and that will require planning. Now, when Sue and Shin get here, we will have three ahorse, and four afoot. Captain, Knight Thany, which of the two of you is faster?”

“Um,” Thany's voice, much like Bartre's, had no filter of quiet set over it. “I think that's me. Tate's pegasus is warhorse stock, but mine is from a peregrine scout line. What do you need of me?”

“If General Roy agrees to it, I'd like you and an archer to fly to the balistae we disabled and try to use it to take out the ship that will be coming in here at dawn,” Klein told her. “Captain, you'll be my main point of contact between General Roy and Bard Elphin. My plan at this point is to capture the harbor by besieging the back gate of the castle, and, when that galley appears, I want Lilina and Clarine and Lugh to try casting thunder at it, if it comes too close to either the harbor, or the army camp. Seawater amplifies the thunder aspect of anima, if I'm remembering my lessons correctly. Between the two points of attack we ought to be able to keep the galley at least wary of sending in a landing party, if not outright disable it.”

“And by dawn, Thany and I will be able to see and fly with more surety,” Tate nodded. “I will relay your plan. Will you stay here, or are you planning to advance?”

Fir stiffened suddenly. “The portcullis is raising again. I can see torch light from the castle.”

“Then you don't need the lanterns we brought?” someone asked with amused chagrin from the bridge.

Rutger heard loud rustles of clothing and some rattling of arrows in a quiver, as Klein, and probably a few others, started. As he had been relaxing against the supports of the bridge, his own flinch was not quite as noticeable, for which he was grateful. Sue's voice had a low quietness to it, but she was unlikely to find the situation as funny as Shin, who had a habit of smiling in the face of hopeless situations, if the expressions he made whenever he heard Clarine trying to give fashionable advice to Dorothy or Rutger were any indication.

Klein recovered quickly enough, however. “No, we will be wanting them. If for no other reason than to guide the pegasus knights. Did you two catch the plan?”

“Of course,” definitely Sue this time. Rutger realized that she had a particular cadence when speaking during battle that deserted her in normal conversation. He had noticed the directness on the battlements of Araphen, but it had been gone in the bandits' castle in Fibernia as Sue considered her future. “We should probably flank the group as you advance. No one will know where we are, unless the enemy gets lucky in the dark.”

“I'll hang back on what passes for a hill before the castle,” Klein agreed with the plan. “We will create cover fire for the rest of you. Fir, Rutger, Bartre, you will be attacking the enemy head on. Clarine, I need you to make sure that our path to the harbor is clear.”

“But brother, I'm more than capable of getting rid of these brigands—”

“These brigands, as you have it, Clarine, are our countrymen, even if they've forgotten it. You cannot do the same,” Klein's voice lashed out like an icy whip. He relented within a second, sounding once more the cool-headed older brother and trusted general. “By all means, you saved us earlier, Clarine. But if we fight together you must obey my orders. There is a chain of command. Following it is part of growing up to do your duty properly.”

It struck Rutger that Klein was only a little younger than he was, and a full general. If he understood Etruria's standing military correctly, that was something like a cross between war leader and chief. Both Sue and Shin were probably of that status now, thanks to the decimation of their tribe, but Klein had been placed in that position by people who were older and more experienced than he was, and who saw a mind that they must respect. That friendliness masked reserve he had cultivated must have to withstand a lot of pressure to live up to the kind of expectation that seemed to follow him.

Clarine, normally unabashed in the face of kidnapping, trickery, and Rutger's extreme irritation, managed to hold a stunned silence for several heartbeats, before echoing Sue. “Of course, Klein. I didn't mean—”

“I know. Just please don't put yourself, or anyone else here, in danger by trying to be a one w—lady army. Now, we need to see what kind of welcome Castle Idina has waiting for us,” Klein declared.

Despite his words that the troops at Idina were his compatriots, Klein had no compunction about slaughtering the two scouting parties sent to reconnoiter his strength. At one point Rutger found himself backed up against Lady Sue's pony, when his attacker flinched and screamed long enough to slice him open from sternum to navel. When Rutger walked over the body, an arrow protruding from a fleshy inner leg scraped at his shin.

Then the postern doors wrenched closed, and the portcullis dropped for the last time, leaving their little force to the harbor access without contest. Tate was already winging over to Roy's side of the castle, carrying the news that their opponents had settled in for a true siege. Stars still sparkled on the waves. A few arrows from the battlements clattered off the stones far from the single dock, where Klein now waited, but the fire was clearly for defiance, rather than threat.

Sue's pony brought the lady even with Rutger's side. “Are you all right?”

He had a cut along his cheek that stung in the wind, another on his forehead that was finally caking into sticky clots, and he suspected that his surcoat was in need of minor repair but over all, he was perhaps a single wave of Clarine's staff away from being as good as when he started the battle.

“Fine. That axe wielder didn't get you, did he?”

“My horse blanket is torn, but I will live,” Sue's dark shape appeared to be sitting in her saddle without any discomfort, so the wound could not be that severe.

Clarine tutted angrily at Shin and Fir to their left, alternating remonstrations until Fir's father boomed for more light. Rutger prodded the ground ahead of him with his sword scabbard experimentally, but turned up no driftwood. They probably shouldn't start any fires until the siege was official, in any case. Rutger wanted to shake his head at himself in exasperation. He was getting too used to following orders.

Lady Sue exhaled slowly, as though she was trying to spread out of her body, and mingle with the night. “We should be glad that everything went as smoothly as it did.”

True, no one was dead. Even the closest of calls had not been that close during this battle. From the sounds of it, Fir might have taken a bad hit, but her voice drifted around the group, light and playful. The harbor was theirs, Idina was closed to siege, and all they needed was for Roy to name terms, or whatever the proper way for dealing with traitors around here was.

Of course, the definition of traitor was entirely based in perspective at this point. “Klein's plan did work,” Rutger said to the waiting dark. “Should we tell him that?”

“He is carrying a lot of unhappiness,” Lady Sue replied. “You know his sister better. Would she like to hear that she was good at her work when she is uncertain of it?”

“Clarine is rarely uncertain of anything. I would say Klein is much the same,” Rutger commented. “Conflicted, perhaps, but he does not question his actions when he had made up his mind. On the other hand, he's difficult to read.”

There was little to say to that, apparently. Lady Sue managed a small noise of agreement, and quiet settled between them once more, until she nudged her horse forward. “I know what you mean. His spirit is at once genuinely happy, and yet hiding all manner of other things, even the sincerity of his happiness. Bard Elphin is even worse. I noticed the same, I don't know, doubleness, in many of the Etrurians when they rescued us at Ostia, even General Cecilia. I know that she cannot be playing us falsely, but she doesn't come across as true, either.”

Rutger thought about Dieck, and his determination to ignore and push away his past. Did that produce the doubling that Sue was describing? For all he knew, his own spirit was trying, probably badly, to do the same. “Etruria is a strange kingdom,” Rutger said at last.

“It is,” Lady Sue's horse stopped walking for a moment. “The land is so beautiful and alive—you know how rivers are in Sacae, but it's more than just giving relief to the land and thirsty in Etruria, they sing with the fact that they are a way of life for so many people, it's so very different.”

Rutger did not know how rivers felt about anything. Lady Sue sounded as though she was speaking of a friend. It had been a long time since Rutger had heard anyone talk of it—spirits were the providence of priests and children, one set of which Rutger had no good reason to approach, and the other he avoided. In polite society, people did not speak to outsiders about the world they could not understand. At least the darkness gave Rutger cover enough to turn away from Sue's openness, before he could ruin it with his raw envy.

“Rutger? Did I say something unpleasant?” Sue's voice gave Rutger no warning for when her hand reached out, and touched his shoulder to stop his retreat.

His startled flinch caused her fingers to withdraw instantly, but that did little to calm the frightened rabbit-like response from his heart. The night's work had left him far too jumpy, he told himself. “It's nothing,” Dieck was right, he did lie far too much. And of all people to lie to, Lady Sue did not deserve it. “No one—People do not usually speak openly of the spiritual world around me.”

The lady exhaled, her voice rueful. “I suppose you think I'm childish. Shin always does. I just have never seen a good reason not to speak of all my observations, and my parents always encouraged it, even though I don't think my father could see the spirits at all.”

Rutger felt his assumptions grind to a halt for the second time that night. “Was he—not Sacaen?” But that couldn't be right. The granddaughter of the Silver Wolf might have had a mother from outside the Kutolah, as radical as that thought was, but never an outsider father.

“Well, he was of the Plains, and born to the Kutolah, and in that much, he would be Sacaen,” Sue's clothes rustled faintly, and Rutger wondered if she was shrugging, gesturing, or about to attempt dismounting. Since the leg did not move to hit his shoulder, however, he decided dismounting was not among Lady Sue's plans. “But he was cast out when he was in his walking years.”

Rutger shivered. What had her father done? Or what had her family done, to warrant killing the memory of a child in the heart of a tribe? Casting out a child who had not even trained his own horse yet sounded like a judgment against blood sins. Rootless as Rutger was without Bulgar to call his home, he at least had the memory of the dead to keep him attached to the Plains. “But he returned, or you would not be—?”

“The wildflower of the Kutolah?” Sue's soft laugh sounded almost derisive. “Yes. He did everything necessary to be brought back, and he is happy now. But his spirit has always been silent. It never reaches out, and only opens if approached first. Even you—sorry.”

“No,” Rutger gripped the crusty edge of the torn horse blanket involuntarily. “I'm—I have no objections to you talking about me. As I said, no one speaks about that kind of thing around me. Not since I was a child.”

The water lapped at the dock, blending with a lively discussion about Fir's manliness, if the few clear words from Bartre were any indication. At last Lady Sue decided on whatever was right to say, as opposed to being intrusive on the life of a Plains townsman. “You're a bit of a scary mess, Rutger, and you do try to keep your spirit closed, but it just leaks out of you in other places. And it is not silent. I have never met anyone else who held themselves quietly, even when—He and Mama were—I miss both of them.”

She trailed off, and Rutger tried to remember how they had gotten to dead parents once again. Dead parents, and scary messes, apparently. A selfish part of him wanted to ignore her unhappiness and ask for all of the advice he would have asked for from a shaman. The rest of him didn't know what to do. She must be very sensitive to the spirit world, to see it so naturally in her life. Was that helpful when she had lost so much else, or was it painful?

“But what ever has happened, has happened already, and I have done my part,” Lady Sue's voice rang with the resolve not to dwell on what would have to be beyond her control. “For now we have Klein, and—Oh right, we were discussing how strange Etrurians are.”

“Among other things,” Rutger relaxed. Still, they both were without family. It was cowardly of him to try to avoid this. “If you want to talk about your family, though, I will listen.”

“You would, wouldn't you?” Lady Sue said after a brief pause. “Thank you.”

But she nudged her horse closer to Clarine, and the argument that should have been a quick healing. “I did have a point to make about Etruria, though. I've always believed that Mother Earth has—she gives us anchors to places, and makes them part of our hearts. But it is up to us to shape those anchors, and make them out own. In Etruria, with its lively rivers—even the cities have a nice feel to them, but it's a little like looking at a rare and well made sword. Everyone wants to _own_ it. I am not sure if that is the right way to view the land—or maybe it is not wrong, but it has consequences.”

Rutger thought of Fir once more, and felt embarrassed. Then his thoughts strayed to Dieck's opinions of ownership, and soured instantly. “It would not surprise me at all, if that were the case.”

“What would not surprise you, Rutger?” Clarine asked.

When she moved to confront them, she revealed one of the lanterns, and a splash of blood on the ground, leading to an arm wearing an archer's gauntlet, seemingly disembodied as the shadows swallowed up the pool of light. Fir's pale shirt showed in the dimness, leading Rutger to believe that the arm belonged to one of their party.

“Is Shin alright?” Sue asked, gripping her saddle fiercely enough to make the rim creak as she leaned forward.

She did not, however, dismount, which Rutger thought of as strange. In her place he would be running to see if his last living link to his home was alright. But as she did not move, he took the initiative, and slid between the horses, skirting the lantern light to give a better report.

He heard Fir chuckle. “He's sleeping. Apparently its undignified to leave your horse if your wounds would cause you to fall once you found the ground, and Shin responds to healing exhaustion quickly. Father is circling the castle to see if we can get some blankets from the main camp, as well as do some non-pegasus scouting. You don't have to worry about Shin, Sue.”

“Really,” Clarine grouched. “I can't believe he didn't choose to dismount.”

Rutger knelt next to Fir. Given the dark blotch that was roughly head-shaped and breathing coming from her lap, it seemed that Shin was using her as a glorified pillow. The rocks under Rutger's hand were a little tacky, but mostly dry from what he could tell. Somewhere nearby, a horse stamped. He wouldn't dismount and had splashed this much blood everywhere before Clarine was able to heal him? “Oh, I can't believe it, either, Lady Clarine. Isn't it a show of stubbornness, rather than sense, to stay ahorse, _Lady Sue_?”

“I told you, I was not badly hurt by that last soldier,” Sue did not even sound too convinced herself.

Clarine sprang into action, every inch a healer. “Rutger, pick that lantern up. Sue, where are you injured?—Rutger, your _face_! You need to wash, once I'm done with Sue. You're lucky seawater agrees with the humors.”

It could have waited until the soapy buckets went around when they knew they weren't going to be attacked, Rutger thought, but he obeyed Clarine nonetheless. When he brought the lantern close enough, it was obvious that Sue's right knee and thigh had been cut, though, according to Clarine's probing, the cut was not deep.

“See?” Sue ended up hissing, when Clarine tried to detach the cloth from dried blood. “That stings, Clarine!”

“Well, you should have called me over as soon as you could to keep the blood from attaching your clothing to your skin like this,” Clarine replied, unrepentant. “One moment, and I'll fix it for you.”

“I was fine. I just didn't want to dismount on a bad leg.”

“Is there some secret Plains technique that involves ignoring the healers that I'm not aware of?” Clarine asked, her voice ringing with the smugness of a young girl who realizes that she has out maneuvered her elders.

The sarcastic pride of knowing better than anyone radiating from Clarine left Sue covering a giggle. “It's a technique I've studied for years, actually. If you're in a position that you can hold without too much discomfort, you should wait until you can get to people who can help you down, and know how to keep you from doing more damage.”

“Well,” Clarine lifted her staff, making it shine with the light blue light of healing, “it's not quick enough. And you might be doing more damage hanging onto your horse.”

“I try to know my limits, Lady Clarine,” Sue's voice echoed softly off the rocks and water, when it was interrupted by another clattering salvo of arrows from the castle.

At first, Rutger thought that they were aiming for the lights on the beach in another show of useless defiance, but an indignant, shrieking, unhorse-like neigh made him look to the sky, where Captain Tate was gracefully sloping toward Klein. She seemed to be coming in very slowly, showing off that she had no need to worry about arrows with a calm that was nearly ruined by her pegasus' loud irritation, and desire to trample the offenders.

Her landing was light, however, though after the hooves came to a stop, the rock rang with stamping noises, and affronted snorting. Sue, as she dismounted gingerly, tutted. Rutger considered pointing out that pegasi were not horses with wings, and were supposed to be much closer to wyverns in temperament—but he supposed that the control that a rider should have over any mount should be the same, no matter the bird-like habits of anger and fury. Though it was also possible that Tate's war pegasus was being allowed leeway by her rider given the darkness and a pegasus' learned hatred of arrows.

It was one of those moments when Rutger felt inordinately smug about the fact that he was only responsible for his own behavior and did not have to deal with horses of any kind.

“Everyone,” Klein called out from Tate's general direction, “let's gather around. Is Shin awake yet?”

“No.”

Fir's voice was cut off by a sleepy, “Yes, I what?”

“Okay, he's awake. Just not sensible.”

Sue laughed to herself once more, but concentrated on rubbing her recently healed leg. Rutger waited for her to get steady on her feet before moving himself and the lantern he was holding to the patch of darkness Clarine had trotted towards.

When the lantern reached Klein, the young man was running fingers through his hair. “Bartre and Merlinus will be coming back here with a few others. General Roy delivered an announcement of the siege to the main gate a few minutes ago. Right now, the commander is digging in. As far as we can tell, he doesn't think we know about the resupply ship, and is hoping that they'll break us. The general and Sir Lance are trying to work on a bigger surprise than what we had already planned, but Clarine, you will need to get some sleep, so that you're well rested when it's time to protect the rest of us. We'll be setting up a camp on this side, in case any of the soldiers try to make a break from the back of the castle. You get to choose the first tent.”

“And we get to set it up?” Fir giggled, while Clarine beamed with pride.

“Well, of course! I am an important mage who needs her rest.”

Rutger tried not to roll his eyes, but Lady Sue nodded seriously. “I'm glad that you decided to start learning how to use your magic in combat. It gives us many more options. Do you need anything else? Together, I am sure this army could hold off a landing party, but I think we all would rather that this plan to sink the ship works.”

“Well, I should probably study my thunder tome—can we have more light? Or is it still too dangerous, Brother?”

Klein blinked with a slowness mirrored by Shin's half asleep eyes. “They know where we are, and with the army's bonfire, the galley will see that there are besiegers here no matter what. Let's set some torches, and get a line past their arrow range set up. Rutger, if you and Sue could place the lanterns at my direction? Uh—the rest of them should still be on Shin's saddle. Let's get started figuring out the camp configurations. Shin, stay with Clarine. Captain Tate and I need to work on some messages. We'll be on the dock once the lanterns are set. Fir, watch the gate. If it shifts, yell for us.”

Decisions made, Rutger and Sue walked the arbitrary lines of the beach, Klein prowling ahead, and calling for a new lantern at regular intervals. A crescent moon was rising, adding to the cold starlight when Rutger managed to rise from the final lantern wick, a small friendly fire glow beginning a line that guarded the harbor. Klein rocked back on his heels, letting out a satisfied sigh.

Sue's knuckles cracked gruesomely as she stretched, before addressing Klein. “You seem sad, Klein. Clarine will be fine, you know. It's good to learn how to protect yourself and others when you need to.”

The young man started, his feet backing out of the pool of lantern light. “Ah. No—I mean, well, I wish my little sister could be the little girl I left behind with my parents when I went to serve my kingdom. But I understand that we are making the best of a bad situation, and to be honest, I think she gets more support here from Lady Lilina and Lugh than her tutors at home could give her. My parents would teach her everything she would need, but—she's the youngest of our generation. I was very lucky to meet the good friends that I did at court, and I was considered a little young. For Clarine—There aren't many young people she would be allowed to associate with. She's happy here. And growing up very well.”

Sue nodded slowly. “You really mean that. May we ask what's troubling you, then?”

“Nothing serious. A friend of mine died on the Isles two years ago this month. I got the news almost directly after it happened, and had to carry it to Aquelia personally. At the time, it sounded innocent enough, but given what we've discovered so far—I'm having my doubts. Fighting these soldiers, tonight—they've betrayed their oaths and their people. It makes me wonder if anyone among these soldiers killed him. Though I have always hoped that the news was false—but if that is the case, after two years, he should have reappeared, somewhere. Not the best thoughts to be dwelling on, at the start of an important siege, I suppose.”

It was incredible, listening to Klein describe the loss of a friend and betrayal of the military he served with such equanimity. If anything, his feelings seemed to be cold, as though he was speaking of the weather conditions, with barely an inflection in his voice—up until the moment his breath caught on the word 'false,' and the pause that followed filled the void with raw cold autumn air. If Lady Sue had not been at his side, Rutger would have considered slinking away from these unspoken memories of a friend Klein would not name.

“Well, at the end of this, you may be able to question the commander here,” Sue pointed out, before frowning. “Two years ago? Last year, Bern began its march across the plains into Ilia. But I think the seeds of betrayal were sewn before that.”

“Really?” Klein's voice sounded contemplative. “Hmm, if we get drawn back into Bern's war—I'd like to hear more about that, some time. How things happened in the Plains.”

Now, the urge to slink away gripped Rutger with total ferocity. He had the night on his side. Even the lantern line was not casting enough light for Klein to notice if he moved silently away. But Klein broke away first, heading for the dock in a crunching of barnacles and a last 'thank you,' and Rutger could obviously not follow him.

“You don't want him to ask, do you?” Sue murmured, taking a stand that gave her a view of the castle's south west wall, with all of the bobbing torches.

“He's an outsider,” Rutger began, knowing he was lying by omission. It wasn't fair to either Klein to be rejected because he was not of the plains, or to Lady Sue, to be given such a lie for an answer.

“I know Bulgar fell,” Lady Sue paused, slowly searching out the words, “swiftly. With blood red streets. That was why the Kutolah decided to resist Bern to the last man and woman. But you—you're carrying the ghosts with you, so far from the grass and wind.”

Cold ice tightened his breath. He had wanted this, he told himself. He had wanted her to speak to him like an priest or shaman. He had wanted that relief, and familiarity so far from home. “They won't be able to rest in the city without justice.”

“No. It's hard, carrying all those lives, naming them, remembering them each night,” Sue murmured, making Rutger wonder how many Kutolah names she held close to her heart. “But you can't deny what happened, not even to an outsider. Ghosts need to be remembered.”

Rutger closed his eyes against the quiet sea and the looming night. The rhythms of the earth, which should be so soothing, slammed into his ears as soon as he tried to shut them out. His stomach knotted in response, tangling like a ruined warp on a loom. Sue knew what paths his spirit was walking better than anyone else at this time. The arrogance of asking her terrified him. “What do you think I should do, Lady Sue?”

“I'm not even an adult, yet,” Lady Sue did sound small and young with those words. “When I'm overwhelmed, I go out for a ride with someone I know. I don't think that would help—you don't seem to find horses relaxing.”

“It's better than archery,” Rutger shrugged ruefully, realizing with this simple comment Sue had taken the building storm around them, and began spinning it into proper energy. “I've always been the embarrassment of my family when it came to being a proper man.”

Sue giggled. “I have an uncle like that. At least you can hunt. My father and mother hoped that I could teach him when I started to learn tracking and trapping, but he said his bad habits were too ingrained by then. He is a great swordsman, though. When the war is over, I hope to find him and Mama, since by then I should be ready to learn the way of the blade.”

“A sword from horseback is different from a sword afoot,” Rutger pointed out, probably uselessly.

“Yes, but—Neither of them are going to be mistaken for Kutolah marksmen. They've always wanted to be part of my lessons, and this way, they can be, even if I have to learn how to fight afoot.”

Rutger smiled at the simplicity of her resolution. “I hope that happens for you, Lady Sue.”

“What will you do, once the war is over, and your ghosts are with Mother Earth's embrace?”

“Become no one, I hope,” Rutger breathed, feeling the world settle around him, pleased with his honesty. “I can't imagine going back to the person I was, and there is no place for who I have become. Sometimes, I think I might as well be a mercenary until I die. But,” he breathed out, “if I survive to see the destruction of Bern, it would be the end of the road I've walked. I would need to find a new direction.”

Rocks shifted and more mollusks had their shells cracked, as Sue walked away from Rutger, pacing toward the castle, then looping back from the sounds of her feet. “I will be going back home, even though my ghosts will not find rest through vengeance. I failed to bring them to safety, and they need to be brought back to the Plains. But after that—there will be other paths to walk. That's what I think I should do. I think you—you should talk to someone who knows more about this than me.”

Rutger swallowed. The same advice, then, as Dieck. Lady Sue at least had not named the Elimineans specifically, but, there were not any other people trained in repairing spirits. For a rash instant, Rutger had hoped that Lady Sue would have all the answers. It would have been a relief to discover that she was wiser than the legendary Archsage, and could tell him exactly what to do.

“Thank you,” Rutger's voice was cut off by the loud noise of arrows clattering off a cart well underway.

Bartre and Merlinus rounded Castle Idina at a near gallop, laden wagon and additional troops in tow. Lady Sue called out that the camp had to be behind the lantern line, and then the whole nighttime world exploded into a frenzy of torch lighting, tent carrying, bad instructions as to where tents should be carried, and lengthy conversations about how to pen in horses. As always it amazed Rutger how swiftly a camp could be set up by seven people working at cross purposes, this time with the addition of arrows whenever someone thought the Alliance Army was close enough for a potshot.

Then came the news that the rest of the army was moving up their camp, and needed help getting things set up. Half the soldiers from the night's skirmishing were ordered to stay at the back of the castle to guard Clarine, and the other half rushed off with Merlinus. The sound of arrows on the roof of the cart was almost as thrilling as the habit of the cart to lurch violently and throw Rutger alternately into the stiff canvas and wooden boards of the frame, or Sir Noah's lap.

It was a nice lap, as laps went, Rutger supposed, but Rutger did not belong there, and both of them were very aware of the fact. The second time it happened, Rutger gripped one of the mysterious leather straps that lined the interior wall and were probably used to keep unruly kettles secure and ruly, and Sir Noah casually braced himself against the other side.

It was the best part of the night, as it turned out, as Noah managed to be Rutger's main ally in the cross purposes ordering of the second camp, taking a direction and choosing to pursue it, no matter what the other members of the camp said. It was much easier to fall into line with the direct approach than try to follow sixteen different orders at once, and as a result they found themselves finished with the tents they were supposed to set up and sitting together by the cook cauldron in the manner of tired people who think they deserve a rest, but don't want to be caught slacking. Rutger was more successful with the look than Noah was, mostly because Noah was a head taller, and not prone to skulking.

“Wings of Ice,” Noah muttered, as Bartre's enthusiastic orders about the placement of Merlinus' sacks of potatoes met their ears. “doesn't anyone get tired any more?”

Rutger leaned back against the vast brass cauldron, and watched the figures in the flickering torchlight run to and fro. The clumps of people carrying heavy things seemed to be drifting apart, and the general rushing was slowing down noticeably. “Give it until the moon is half a finger higher. Did you hear who's assigned to what watch?”

“I'm first watch for this camp. I think you're dawn watch for the back castle camp,” Noah glanced at him with pity in his eyes.

Well, at least that gave Rutger time to find the Elimineans before he decided to put it off until tomorrow. He was already far too adept at putting off things that involved a full conversation, and he could feel himself trying to get away from this new obligation.

Think about entire fortnights with uninterrupted sleep. Imagine seeing wyverns in the sky and not thinking anything more than the usual cynical skepticism about whether they really are that useful in combat.

The way Dieck had put it—getting his life back—had in some ways unsettled Rutger. He didn't want his life back—that would be like wanting a body to rise from the earth and walk about unclaimed, or maybe it was like wishing for something he already possessed. He had a duty to his dead friends and neighbors. It was just like a larger version of a blood feud. Not, he suspected, that any priest, Sacaen or otherwise, would actively condone his right to pretend to blood ties with half a city, but the idea was the same. His life was not a separate entity from his quest for revenge.

But he did need, desperately, a way of continuing that was less consuming. And to find that path—Rutger rose stiffly, stretching. “Have you seen Sister Ellen, or Brother Saul around?”

Noah pointed away from the cook tent, toward some new fires. “We put up the healing tent and supplies over there, so that should be where they are.”

Rutger nodded his thanks, and strode in the right direction, ducking around torches and people still carrying packs and bundles. As he passed the command tent, Roy waved vaguely in his direction, just as he waved vaguely at every person who had not been with the main army since the forces split that morning. Given that Roy was in a conference with Elphin, Rutger didn't bother to acknowledge the attempt at attendance keeping.

He found Saul, and was surprised to see the brother lifting the wooden frames for the cots with Sister Ellen. Rutger had assumed that Saul would be dodging work, as was his normal mode of operation. Sister Ellen was struggling with setting up the makeshift cots and bedrolls, just as much as the other cleric, though, and Rutger wondered if he would be taking Brother Saul's attention away when it was actually needed on this more important task. However, it was better to get this over with, than stand dithering in the tent flap, hoping no one saw him in the shadows. When he asked if Saul was really needed, Ellen jumped, and the wooden frame of the cot crashed on the rocks, halfway in and halfway out of the tent.

“Ah-Ah,” She stammered for a moment, before collecting herself, and moving to the other side of the cot to lift it again. “B-brother Saul are you needed? I thought you said you should be going over to go over to the secondary camp. Something about Lady Sue and Shin being wounded?”

“Shin was,” Rutger watched the not terribly efficient attempts to drag the cot further into the tent. Basic politeness, or a possible desire to keep from explaining his purpose, made him clench his teeth and ask: “Do you need a hand?”

“No, no! I'm fine! Y-you can discuss your business with the brother. I won't get in the wa—”

The cot crashed another thumb-length to the rocks, as her tenuous hold on the bulky construction slipped. Rutger moved to grab the far end, and held it still for the healer until she could get a firm grip. The cot itself surprised Rutger a little as the weight was not really the problem, but the length and width, which he supposed made sense, as it had to hold Dame Wendy as easily as it could hold a weedier mercenary like himself or Oujay.

Together they maneuvered the cot into the tent, bringing it to rest by another two. Getting the straw pallets onto the frames was even more unwieldy, and the ticks were heavier than the frames, making Rutger wonder how Sister Ellen had planed to do what was clearly a two person job all by herself.

“Thank you,” the priestess said over her shoulder as she ran to the pile of equipment outside, and began sorting out vulneraries. “I hope you and Brother Saul have a good conference.”

Rutger was about to point out that there were still wool blankets to unload, when Saul grabbed him by the arm, and hustled him out of the tent. Given that being pushed and pulled around was not Rutger's favorite mode of transport, he stopped walking very deliberately, and glared at Saul, until the the priest stopped tugging, and looked away.

“Man, Rutger, can't you see that she was getting scared of you? As in, thought you were going to hurt her in some way—much like you're looking now, actually.”

Rutger let go of his sword hilt. Again? He thought that they had sorted out Sister Ellen's fears at Araphen. Oh well. He reached up to tuck his hair back, and realized that his skin itched and practically crackled. He still had dried blood flaking off his face. “I see. Are you looking to run away, too?”

Saul found a barrel that sloshed suspiciously as he levered it upright. Given the position of Merlinus' cart near by, Rutger suspected it was a small keg of brandy, or something too good for the rest of the troops to know about. Still, it made a decent seat for Saul, and he looked up expectantly at his supplicant. “I suppose not. So, what can I do for you—you didn't get your back mangled up again, did you?”

“No,” Rutger focused his attention on some scrubby tufts of grass peeking out from under the shadow of a brazier. “You're familiar with what passes for spiritual healing among the Elimineans, aren't you?”

The quieting clatter of camp set up filled the blank, close mouthed silence that met those words. At length, Saul cleared his throat. “I—I can take confession, if that's what you mean? Or I guess it isn't, since that expression—”

“People list their sins against your church, and then are blackmailed the rest of their lives for having told such secrets, right?” Rutger suggested vaguely, recalling insults hurled in the religious quarter of Bulgar which had almost always ended before a council of arbiters.

At that, the confusion of Saul's face turned into a hard glare that had Rutger seriously considering drawing his blade and defending himself. “I am _not_ corrupt. Loose with the Rule, perhaps. But not corrupt. Confession is a sacred rite where we lift the stains from the soul—first by admitting to them, and then by finding the way past them. It's an act of healing. It's one of the the sacraments of faith.”

“Does it work for someone who doesn't share your faith?”

Breath whistled through Saul's teeth. “Like you? I was taught that the power of Father Sky and Mother Earth have to work within the supplicant's trust and faith in his confessor. Some rare people are so spiritually gifted that they can reach out to heal such stains on the soul without the necessary remorse—or I should say, their trust in others allows them to take on the stains for a time, until the person laboring under pain is in a place where they can pick up the burden without assistance. It's a rare thing to do, although we try to train our priests and clerics to be able to do exactly that. I'm not any good at being able to take on something that belongs to someone who does not really, devoutly wish to give it up—but Sister Ellen has talents in that direction.”

Rutger had been afraid of that. “I don't want to give up the path of vengeance—I can modify its route a little, but I must see it though to the end, which will involve the death of every Bern soldier who stepped foot on the Plains, and every man and woman who follows their so-called King. Sister Ellen and I will not be able to come to terms about that. And I don't follow your faith.”

Saul pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why bother seeking out spiritual healing, then? You believe there is something wrong with your soul, based in this anger you have, but you don't want to give up the anger?”

He trailed off. Rutger could guess why Saul wasn't very effective at performing his sacrament. He was not the type of person who could put himself aside to accept whatever problem came his way. As someone just as singularly embodied in the world, Rutger could understand, though it made Saul's vocation look stranger and stranger, the more Rutger thought about it.

“I keep on reliving everything that happened to my friends and family. I remember it, I won't ever forget it, but I—” Rutger faltered. Saul probably knew that his peaceful nights were few and far between. But really, he could ask for some healer's trick of forcing sleep. There were plants and things. The mysteries of an apothecary could easily render dreamlessness—or Rutger would hope so. Maybe he did want, in some part of himself, to be that solitary, thoughtless caravan guard again. Perhaps if he used Dieck's words about wanting his life back, Brother Saul would know and understand his reasons. Or perhaps not at all. “It's bleeding through, now. I don't need an exorcism, but I can't do what is necessary if I become lost.”

“Exorcism?” Saul rocked back on the barrel. “I hope, I mean, you are a little demonic, but that—”

“I don't think exorcism means the same thing to me as it does to you,” Rutger interrupted hastily, not liking the outright fear in Saul's voice.

The priest twiddled his thumbs for a minute. “I'm not sure what to do, honestly. I don't think non-Elimineans can benefit from the sacraments, though I'm sure Sister Ellen would disagree, but that's the difference of the Bernian church for you. It's my duty to help all who need aid. Even if it's just giving you some peace of mind through being silent and listening, until we can find one of your own shamans who could sort this out.”

Rutger gave Saul a long look. “You are aware, all but the strongest, or smallest tribes are scattered from the Plains, and that shamans need the protection of the tribes? The chances of finding a holy person trained in the Sacaen way anywhere between the Isles and Bern are beyond calculation.”

Saul pushed himself from makeshift seat, and shrugged. “This army has managed to unite the last of the Kutolah, ally with the Princess of Bern against her own brother, and find little Lady Reglay's brother, all in the space of three seasons. Finding a heathen shaman shouldn't be too impossible. At this point, we're likely to uncover the corrupt end of the chur—which is none of your business, and I didn't say anything,” Saul added, glancing at Rutger. He shook his head. “Sorry. I'm tired. Come into my new tent. We can try discussing this first step.”

The conversation did not last long. Rutger had only managed to agree to detail the experience of last year to Saul's waiting ears, and began describing the first execution, when Saul's head began to nod. Rutger, who was not at all sleepy given the subject matter, decided to be the person to end it. Saul was trying, but the siege camp had been set up, fighters had been healed, and there was little reason for the priest to forgo a nap. The swordsman nodded when Saul mentioned meeting again at a better time, and slipped out of the tent.

Well,that had not gone _badly_. Saul might have been exhausted, but that was not Saul's fault as much as Rutger's in his choice of timing. Of course, that left Rutger with very little to do, and a desperate need to get clean. He should probably find out if Klein needed him to guard the back entrance still or if the current forces were enough.

Surprisingly. he spotted Klein almost instantly as he turned around, trying to get his orientation. Klein stood over Roy's map table, speaking earnestly about something—tomorrow's attack plans, or something equally urgent, no doubt. In the dancing torchlight surrounding the tent, Rutger thought he saw Elphin vanishing, the light catching his blond braid, and then the shadows claimed him. Well, bards being mysterious were not Rutger's problem.

He strode to the tent, coughing in the open doorway to get attention. “Klein? General Roy? I've finished my work here. Should I return to the secondary camp?”

Roy jumped, probably startled by a visitor when his focus was clearly absorbed in Maps and Plans. He squinted over his diagrams on the table. “No—we're moving in heavier fighters to the back camp. We should probably bring Fir to this side as well—or maybe Lady Sue? Yes, keep Fir there as an auxiliary swordsman, and let Shin stay to be a back up archer. Wolt will be joining them as soon as Thany can bring him off the mountain. With Bartre, Sir Zealot, Captain Tate and Wade there, we have a good dispersal of weapons and power to protect Clarine and the more limited fighters. Klein, do you have all of the supplies for fire arrows?”

Klein smiled to himself at the abrupt topic switch, and nodded at Rutger tiredly. “You're dismissed. And Rutger, try to find a wash bucket, if you can. You look really villainous right now, and I know my sister told you to get clean.”

“I've already been told off about the blood,” Rutger wondered if being under standing orders by Clarine would follow him into the afterlife at this rate. It wouldn't be so bad, he supposed, being able to say he had managed to be a guard for a bossy little girl as she grew into her own power. Maybe he really was destined for doting older brotherdom, and had just never known because he had been an only child.

Something caught the corner of his eye, however, as he turned to leave. Dieck's pale thatch of hair, head and shoulders over most of the fighters, now that almost everyone was afoot, was striding purposefully in the same direction that Elphin had just navigated.

Rutger scowled to himself. Dieck and Elphin always seemed to be heading in the same direction, away from the rest of the camp when there was a lull in the action. Or getting into the same foraging group. Or heading off to unknown locations with each other for unexplained reasons.

Rutger, battle worn, and half floating on his own memories, had been planning to find Dieck anyway, and tell him that he had been right about talking to Saul. Smug and insufferable as Dieck would be to be told that he was right about something, the news would have stopped those brief worried glances in Rutger's direction as well.

Making up his mind, Rutger strode after the two men. They had reached the darkness outside the camp, where rocks gradually gave way to a silty sand, and the bridge to the next island hung perilously low over the water. Elphin seemed to be inspecting the sea, the silhouette of his head turned towards the dawn against the light of the moon shining on the water. Dieck was a darker shadow crouched against the beach on the castle side of the bridge supports, but he rose as Rutger approached, and something splashed over the water.

Okay, so skipping rocks in a manner that suggested Elphin's presence was entirely incidental was not exactly the scenario Rutger had assumed was happening. They were just so close all the time, and came from the same land, and Elphin was downright beautiful in that foreign Etrurian way of his, and Rutger felt his teeth grinding in frustration.

He glided to Dieck's side, trying to drop his jealousy. Thank goodness it was dark, and Dieck was unlikely to see any of it. “You know—”

“GAH!” Dieck dropped the latest stone. “What—Rutger, warn a guy when you're sneaking up on him, will you?!”

On the other hand, it was too bad that it was so dark, Dieck could not see the look Rutger was giving him. “Consider yourself warned. What are you and the bard doing out here, anyway?”

“Oh, you know, trying to get some space. Hey, Elphin, what're you out here for?”

Elphin's boots ground the few rocks along this stretch into the sand as he walked towards them. “I was merely looking for our soldier friends in that galley. It's nice to get some time away from the crowd on occasion.”

“Of course. I need to talk to Dieck for a while. No one here will mind if I take him,” Rutger thought he sounded casual, but he nearly jumped when Dieck's arms encircled his waist, and he heard a low chuckle in his ear.

“You're more transparent than glass,” the mercenary muttered. “but yeah, we weren't doing anything terribly interesting. We just like running off together, don't we, Elphin?”

“Obviously. You have such a magnetic personality, Captain,” Elphin's feet came to a halt, and Rutger wonder if Elphin had even bothered opening his normally hooded eyes.

Dieck laughed again, turning Rutger deftly back toward the camp. “Let's hang out, not talking to one another and wrapped up in out own thoughts again sometime. It was like a nighttime single tea with a duchess—”

Elphin drew in a sharp breath. “Captain Dieck—ahh, you have an interesting way of putting it.”

“Mm,” Dieck's arm lifted from Rutger's side, presumably to wave cheerily. “Sorry for teasing you. I just wanted to see if I could get Rutger to attack one or the other of us. But putting it that way probably does leave possessive barbarians in confusion.”

Rutger scowled, and refused on principal to be ashamed. “If you're done playing the fool, I wanted to talk to you.”

Dieck's arm immediately snaked back around his shoulders, and they set off back to the tents. “You mean that wasn't you being cunning in breaking up one of the thousands of affairs I'm engaging in?”

There was a tilted smirk hiding in those words pressed into Rutger's hair. Rutger managed to resist the urge to bring up one of his fists to punch it, which he felt was a masterful effort. “Be quiet. You do run off together a lot, and you can't both be avoiding Klein as though the boy has some special plague.”

“Hah,” Dieck laughed dryly. “I suppose not. Though, have you ever heard of single teas?”

“Well, yes? It's a single cup of tea,” Rutger said slowly, trying not to think about the tea stalls on market day, and the rich smokey smells of Ilian traders' booths mingled with the sharp bitterness of the teas from tribes that controlled the East Ocean land.

“Stars,” Dieck laughed again. “It's cute how direct you are. Now, if I'd said that in Aquelia, particularly up by the posh brothels, I'd be asking for more than a drink. Not much more, but a blow job by a professional isn't to be sneezed at.”

“Your Etrurian education awes me as always.”

“No need to sound like you just found two dogs in rut. It's a really specialized bit of talk. And Elphin knew it. He's probably been in that neighborhood at some point, is what I'm saying. Maybe he's from one of the more awkward parts of Aquelia for the noble classes, and is hoping Klein won't recognize him.”

“Not to turn into Clarine, but I have a hard time imagining the upright young general doing something that would bring dishonor on his family like that,” Rutger pointed out dryly.

Dieck just snorted. “Oh, I admit his parents would be disappointed in him if he was out using people who were not in a position to fight back, but Klein ended up in the court. If you want to survive that, and make enough friends to rise in the military, you don't complain loudly when powerful lordlings want to go carousing. As long as they're in the accepted bounds of wildness, what the old noble families say, goes.”

“That entire kingdom just sounds so pleasant,” it was a black mark indeed if Rutger could be making comparisons of what he knew about Bern's upper classes, which was admittedly reduced to “loyalty to the kingdom” and “sometimes ride wyverns,” and find them more desirable. “But speaking of Klein, Fir mentioned your name in front of him a little while ago, and he was very interested.”

They walked to the gentle rolling of the surf. When Dieck sighed, it was almost a shock. “I suppose that would have to happen eventually. Damn that kid. Um, not Fir, obviously.”

“Do you need me to cut him down before he manages to get a hold of you?” Rutger inquired facetiously. “You will have to explain it to his little sister, of course.”

“Hey! Nothing like that! Don't put on your serious voice, will you? I just—Klein's a good kid who's going places, and associating with me isn't going to help him any. Admittedly, if we get defeated here in the Isles, that's not gonna happen, either, but I think we're going to win this in the end.”

Oddly enough, but the usual reluctance to overtly pry into Dieck's life was not dragging down on Rutger's conscience today. Perhaps the battle had been too long, or talking with Saul had freed his curiosity, or he just felt that now was the time to ask. “What should I know about Klein and you?”

“Well, we're not sleeping together, if that's your worry—Ow! Anyone tell you you don't eat enough? 'Cause you've got a sharp elbow there,” Dieck let go of Rutger's waist to rub his side. “You realize I'm going to mock your delusion that I've got a passion for any other person in this outfit from here until the infernal fires rage, right?”

Even though they were entering the flickering light of the outer ring of torches, Rutger doubted that the light was enough to give Dieck a full view of his exasperation. “Given the bits of legends that we're carting around now, if I remember my fire side tales correctly, we might be bringing the original recording of your infernal flames into the world once more.”

“Mm, and I'll probably want to keep tweaking your tail after that,” Dieck grinned. “Okay. I'll just keep on making fun until one of us dies. Hey, do you have a sleeping arrangement yet? My tent's over there.”

Rutger followed the direction of the jerked head. “No. I was supposed to be on dawn watch for the other camp, but I was reassigned here, and no one has given me a place or duty yet.”

“Then c'mon. It's easier to have a private talk with a few canvas walls between me and the rest of the camp,” Dieck pulled him down the group of tents to the battered blue thing that had been traveling with the group since the small group of mercenaries had joined. A torch had been set up near the tent, so the place would be illuminated as long as the tent door remained open. Rutger hoped that wouldn't mean that it was drafty.

Lott was tending a brazier when they got in. “Hey Bro. You just get off watch?”

“Nah, I'm dawn watch. Do you know if Rutger's been posted yet?”

Lott shrugged, stretching. “Nope. Ask Marcus. He seems to be mostly correct when it comes to knowing what Roy wants. Though I'd guess Rutger's dawn watch, too. Wendy got picked, and Gonzales and a couple of the other body count makers. See, Bro, I am watching out for patterns. Roy thinks the attack is going to come at dawn, and he's assigning people like he always does.”

Rutger chose not to question the title 'body count makers.' Wordy as the title might be, it was at least accurate.

There was a clattering outside, and a tired looking Oujay poked his head in. “Lott? Where's Wade? Sir Marcus wants all of us to take midwatch, but I can't find him.”

The large islander grumbled something, and made for the tent door. As soon as he left, Rutger could feel Dieck loosen up. “Well, that's more convenient than asking him to go somewhere else. Though, I guess it doesn't matter, Lott's a good guy.”

There was only one bunk left without gear—the lower one under, given the white tunic trailing over the side, Thany's chosen resting place. Dieck guided Rutger to it, but surprisingly did not pull him down in an embrace, the way he usually did. Instead he flopped into a sprawled sitting position, and looked up at the wood and rope netting above his head. “Y'know, just once it'd be nice not to be the last one in, just so I could choose my own spot. Thany's always claiming bunks with head room she doesn't need.”

“Tell her to stop, then,” Rutger looked at the mess of knees and legs flung every which way over the pallet, and decided he was better off sitting on the floor. “You are her captain.”

“Eh. I never want to be that kind of Captain.”

“One who gets walked all over by his troops?”

“One who yells at little girls. She's passed her tests and is ready to fight, that's fine. But she's just a kid, you know?” Dieck shifted to get a better view of Rutger.

“You called Klein a kid earlier. What does that make me?”

Dieck smiled. “Well, that either makes me an old fool, or you a guy I never knew at six years old. That's a thought actually. I bet six years old you was a pretty sweet kid. I'm sure you got sullen and untalkative when you were apprenticing age, but you probably ran around breaking stuff all the time, or whatever it is little Sacaens do to drive their parents nuts when you were a kid.”

Six years old. Rutger did some quick math. Klein was in his late teens, he would have been six thirteen years ago? Fourteen? Dieck had been a mercenary twelve years ago when he had been tortured, and before that— “That Lord Pent of yours is related to Klein.”

“His very kind and slightly absent minded father. Which, yeah, makes Klein that kid I told you about a couple of months ago. Kids sure seem to grow up fast,” Dieck added, sounding like a man speaking of his first horse, or a bow that had won him competitions, and was now retired, or being used by someone else. “Anyway, it's kinda embarrassing—”

“Missing a sword stroke is embarrassing. Not talking to someone for over a fortnight because you liked their family is something else,” Rutger interrupted critically.

Dieck nearly levitated off the bed. The smack of his head against the frame barely fazed him, as he glared at Rutger, his scars seeming to twitch as he trembled. Rutger stared calmly up at the man, knowing suddenly that this was what Dieck looked like in the defeat by sword Rutger had not yet been able to deliver.

“I should really punch you one,” Dieck growled, his breathing barely under control. “I left a six year old kid, a kid who could have been on a first name basis with kings and princes, and preferred calling me his big brother instead, without a word. If he asks me—I don't want to get into why I did that, because if he turned out like his parents, he's going to do something stupid and unfortunate, and if he turned out like nobles like him are supposed to, I don't want to know him.”

Rutger breathed in and out, focusing his mind on the exhale. In one of their sparring sessions that breath would roll through his shoulder, giving more power to his arm as he swung into Dieck's scarred, open side. That same inhale, exhale had been used by Lady Sue earlier that night for something much better. Fighting only took the world so far, even if it felt much more comfortable and natural to Rutger.

“You think well of him, though, so why not give him the chance?”

Dieck continued to glower, but something shifted behind his eyes, and slowly his head dipped. “It's like your problem with talking to Sister Ellen, right? There's no good way to say that he shouldn't get near me because eventually someone important is going to notice that I'm a low born deviant and start suggesting I'm corrupting one of Etruria's top generals with my crude ways. They used to say I was manipulating him as a _child_. Using the fact that his parents were irresponsible and thoughtless to get unseemly close to him and all that. I don't want to bring it up if I don't have to.”

Rutger watched the shaking drain into hangdog stillness. In defeat, he became a statue, shocking Rutger with how present motion must be in his body, if the lax muscles looked unnatural. Even when holding Rutger quietly, Dieck always had the potential for movement under his skin. Had Rutger ever really wanted this from Dieck?

“It was your home,” Rutger said at last. “I'm not saying go back to it. But having a place on Mother Earth that recognizes you is precious.”

Like a puppet whose strings were cut, Dieck collapsed at the joints, to join Rutger on the sandy pebble strewn floor of the tent. “That doesn't make saying those things any easier. If you're gonna tell me what to do, you have to be the jerk who has all the answers, right?”

Rutger shrugged. “I can't lie. Tell him what you can, I guess. I, well, actually came to tell you that I started speaking to Saul about what happened at Bulgar.”

Dieck raised his head at that. After assessing Rutger slowly, he laughed. “You're looking uncomfortable. I guess that means I was right. So, how'd it work out?”

“Well, I sent Saul to sleep, but it wasn't the worst thing I've done. Do I still scare Sister Ellen? I thought I had settled things with her.”

Shifting position, Dieck shuffled to Rutger's side, and leaned against it. “Probably. You scare everyone,” a hand slipped around Rutger's waist. “But everything went okay, talking to the priests?”

“Okay enough,” Rutger settled into the warmth of Dieck's chest. “So, doing things you don't want to do can help.”

The free arm moved up Rutger's side to his hair, pulling back tangled strands to free the side of his face, and one ear, which Dieck kissed the tip of. “I still don't think I'll be looking forward to that bitter medicine. I kinda wish the past could stay long gone, y'know? I'd been happy to keep it that way—I didn't even really want to tell anyone about the Reglays, much less meet up with Klein again. You're lucky I like you enough to answer you, instead of run off. It wasn't easy, making up my mind the first time. I don't want to get dragged back.”

“Thanks for staying through my accusations, then,” Rutger murmured. Fingers drifted over his forehead, seeking out more errant hair, and recoiling when they found the remains of blood flakes Rutger hadn't managed to rub away. Rutger winced. “Yeah, I know, all ready. I need to get washed up.”

Sadly Dieck's am left his waist, and the thighs bracketing his legs shifted. “I'm sure we got wash water around here somewhere—right, here's this tent's bucket. C'mon, face me. We'll get the worst of it off.”

A complicated dance of knees and hands ensued, ending with Rutger facing Dieck, but also wondering if he had expended just as much energy by not fully rising as he would have by just standing up and turning around. Still, the idea of standing now just seemed uncomfortable to his tired feet, and this way had Dieck gently taking care of him, which wasn't that bad, despite the roughness of the rag provided with the bucket. Rutger could get used to this.

Dieck tapped his nose with the last swipe of the rag. “There. Think I got the worst of it off. We'll be able to see better in the morning. And hey, we might be fighting again come to that.”

“And we both might die,” Rutger shrugged, glancing at the shadows by Dieck's feet. “Which would save me from any more awkward conversations with Elimineans, and you from Klein's notice.”

“You always manage to find a bright side, don't you,” Dieck observed. “I bet when you've lived to ripe old age, you'll be able to tell everyone of the joys such a feat entails, like losing teeth, and going deaf.”

“Well, I'll be telling that to Plains people, who respect their elders, so I need to give them a balanced perspective.”

Dieck wrung out the rag, and returned it to the bucket. “That's really what you're going to do, after the war? Look around, realized you survived, and then wander back home? You could make quite a name for yourself, if you wanted.”

“But I don't want to,” something was creeping up on both of them. “I suppose you want to continue making your name.”

“Yeah, I do pretty much. I like notoriety and adulation tossed my way. Though, not every mercenary is sung about, you know. You could keep to the shadows, easy, and still do this kind of work.”

The idea pounced like a pack of wild dogs going in for the kill. “You could come to the Plains with me, you know. There's work for mercenaries everywhere. I don't know what, exactly, I'd be doing, but—there's a home there, if you want it.”

Rutger could hear the bob and dip of Dieck swallowing. Sand crunched over rock as Dieck's body rocked back on his heels. The consideration in his reply spoke of careful thinking. “I think I'd like that, weirdly—but Sacae's never been easy on mercenaries who don't belong somewhere. You know what I mean. You Sacaens shun anyone who can't say 'I belong to that family' or 'I'm from that town.' I'm—no longer from anywhere, and I gave up belonging to people other than my comrades a long time ago. Anyway, I've got a contract with my guild for a few more years yet. They've been good to me. They could be just as good to you, you know. You'd be valuable for any jobs from Sacae, and we could spend the off season together.”

For a moment Rutger let himself be tempted. No one had said he had to give up killing—he just needed to pull himself away from killing for vengeance’s sake, once there was nothing to be revenged upon. Not all mercenaries were fighters, even. He could find ways to exist—He could find a new existence, but he was unlikely to find peace.

“You were right, back when you were asking about the way our priests do things in Sacae. It's an all or nothing proposition when a man is looking to change his path. I have a lot to fix in my life. I know I said I wasn't not sure yet, but I think my next path is headed toward a monastery. At the very least, I can't go on killing people for money once Bern is toppled. It would be a mockery of the people I thought I was getting revenge for.”

Dieck pushed himself standing, stretching out his spine with such unnecessary nonchalance that Rutger knew he was just trying to stay active while he thought through the possibilities. “So, that's it, then? We have one war together, and then our futures. Well—I guess it's always this way for travelers like us. Too bad, though.”

“Yeah,” Rutger felt the teeth of separation biting into him, even though there were months of campaigning ahead, and a whole war with Bern waiting for this army someplace off these lonely islands.

“Well,” Dieck sighed, leaning down to give Rutger a hand up, “maybe my mind will change before we're through. Who knows. I might not mind if my only claim to fame is being your outsider lover.”

Rutger knew that Dieck was lying in the way outsiders always did. Trying to soften the truth of the matter with some pretty words. But it was a nice attempt, and almost believable. “Do mercenaries ever get time off? You said there's an off season. Is it long enough to come as far south as Bulgar?”

“You think you could make it work long distance while you're lost without a fixed future?” Dieck laughed. “You've got a special arrogance to you. Well, all this is pretty arrogant, assuming we're going to live after tomorrow and the next day.”

“If we survive, though,” Rutger countered, wrapping Dieck's arms around him where they belonged, “I'm be determined to be exactly that arrogant.”

They looked out of the tent for a moment, seeing shapes still bustling in the dim shadows, but feeling the peace of a sleeping camp settle around them. Tomorrow would be the start of a long siege, or a brutal last ditch fight, and they both had to be awake to meet it at the coming dawn. All in all, they had a war, and then they could figure out the rest. Futures were easier to plan when the secret places of the past came untangled.


	12. Epilogue - Sacae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, it's over. Rutger looks pretty good, Dieck thinks. Good enough to have a future.

Dieck thought there was something underhanded about a place that must be warmer than Ilia, and yet left him shivering through layers of wool and sheepskin that had kept him toasty warm in the long Ilian autumn and winter. The wind rattled hollowed out husks of grass on either side of the iced over trail, and cut into him through any weak point it could find.

Luckily the walls of Bulgar were looming close, now, and while the packed ice of the trail from the river to the city made the pace slow going, he had still reached it in half a day, just as the ferryman had predicted. Of course, this deep into winter, half a day had reduced the sunlight perilously close to sun set. He wondered if the cold would be more intense on his windburned cheeks as night came on, or if the lack of having to squint against the bright sun glare would make the journey more tolerable. No wonder Sacaens got so sentimental about their earth: their sky was trying to kill them.

Another party was setting out from the city, driving a small flock of what must be sheep, as Dieck had never seen pillows that plump or fuzzy. Behind them, two guards rode on horse back, as wrapped up as Dieck in dull sheepskin and bright scarves and sashes. Bulked up as they were, Dieck would still guess they were fairly young; they still had all their limbs, and the few older Sacaens that he had seen so far on his journey East were generally missing fingers at the very least.

Dieck hailed the small group when the herd parted to go around him. The shaggy little horses snapped, and one of the guards plowed into the drifts, circling the sheep, and forcing them back together.

“Hey,” Dieck called again, waiting for one of the shepherds to look his way. “I'm looking for a guy, but I don't know where his home is. Who should I ask to find him?”

The smallest of the shepherds and the remaining guard looked at one another. The small one shrugged, maybe a younger sibling waiting for approval. “Try a post house. They have green lanterns hanging outside. You'll have to give a good description, though. Particularly if he's not with any tribe. Regular townsfolk should be okay, but there's lots of outsiders hiding in odd corners.”

Rutger was nothing if not built for odd corners, Dieck mused Still, he should be able to give a decent enough description. Not many swordsmen prowled along with a mane of sandy hair and the attitude of a half feral dog. Besides, the postmistress in Halt Vorbern had said Rutger's letter spoke of what a pain re-learning to ride was with Shin as your teacher, so Dieck could reasonably say Rutger still had a connection with the Kutolah.

He thanked the shepherds, and moved into the city, eying a gate that had once stood open on half wrecked hinges as he stormed past with the rest of the army. It looked newer, though whether this was because a new coat of paint had been slapped on, or because the gate had been replaced, Dieck couldn't tell. More obvious in the outer edges of the city, scaffolding decorated most streets, though the wind streamed merrily through the frames without meeting any human resistance. This might be a reaction to the sun was setting, or because construction halted for the winter. Dieck didn't know, but the empty frames made him feel alone.

Not many people—at least in comparison to the number of houses and tents that clustered in confusing patters around slightly wider open spaces that must be roads—were out and about. The nearest post house was on the main street from the gate, but as soon as Dieck mentioned Kutolah, the sharp faced man behind the counter smiled thinly, and said he had never heard of such a person. Dieck thought about pressing him, but the man's Sacaen over robe had some colorful stripes marked by lines and squares, and Dieck suspected that meant the postmaster belonged to some tribe—probably not one that agreed with the Kutolah, by his response.

The next post house he found was closer to the inner city by three clusters of dwellings, and half way up a well traveled side street. A young woman missing an eye answered his knock on the counter. She had no marks on her clothing that he could see, and she could have passed for Fir in a bad light, but Dieck would have guessed that her family was connected to some net of loyalties somewhere. Did newcomers to Etruria have this kind of problem distinguishing family heraldry?

More cautiously he began his questioning with a vague description of Rutger—Looks Western in coloring, but has long hair, and dresses in the Sacaen style, probably in dark red—the girl was frowning as though something was crossing her mind, but she couldn't place it. As Dieck paused in his litany, she smiled evenly, and ushered him to a low table, bringing out some bitter drink that left a peppery taste in Dieck's nose. If this was the so-superior Sacaen tea merchants were proud of importing, Dieck was glad he hadn't wasted his money on the expensive curiosity.

“Let me look at my round markers. I have only just come into this posting, and am still learning the neighborhoods,” the young woman told him. “Is your friend a tribesman? Many of the tribes have taken on new members from— _other places_ ,” she sounded as though she regretted the reality, but it was polite not to say anything negative about the practical steps people took.

Dieck wondered how Sacaens had gotten their reputation for being honest when there were so many unspoken undercurrents to their conversations. Etrurian nobles were often more forthright than this. Others, of course, hid much more. Power was a pretty fickle thing.

“Not that I know, but he's got some connections to the Kutolah.”

“Oh! I might know the house, then! Not many people answer the door when I come around, but—” the young girl rushed off, only to return a few moments later with a map on a leather hide that had been scraped clean enough times to be wearing thin. “Here. It's a, ah—sorry, I'm not sure if the words make sense to you—it's a peace house. They're neutral territory, uh, places where, um, lost people can find their blood again. Each one is administered by a different group. Anyone can stay, tribe or city, though they must abide by the host's rules. That particular building's host duties are taken by rootless Kutolah members, or blood relatives who act as agents for the Kutolah at the markets and with the arbiters and the like. Anyway, when the tribes went to winter pasturage, they took some of the old hosts with them and left some new ones. The Kutolah left one young lady and three men. The lady and the older uncle are very friendly, but the other two are, well, you know tribesmen. Townspeople have roots too deep to be worth talking to. Anyway, if your friend isn't there, they would know where to find him. But talk to the lady. She sees the truth in people and will help.”

Dieck tried reading the map. It seemed to be just for one sector of the city, as the little circles that must denote houses bled off the sides, and one large rectangle that seemed to be suspiciously positioned on a confluence of roads like the great palace of Bulgar could only be half a wing of the total building. The place the postmistress pointed to was nearly hugging the city wall, by a smaller south facing side gate. “What does this peace house look like?”

“Look for the tribe banners. It will have Kutolah black and gold on top, and then underneath will be the banners for any other people staying there. Can you believe they had Djute staying with them before autumn?”

Dieck shook his head, not knowing what he was agreeing to, but assuming this was the correct response. He was glad that the conversation was wrapping up, however, because the further away from that tea he got, the happier he would be. “Thanks for the directions.”

“Certainly. Blessings be upon you.”

Dieck just waved his casual assent at that, and ducked out the door once more. Getting through the city streets was easy enough, but the shadows were so long by this point that he wondered if he would need to beg a room at this peace house if he couldn't find Rutger there. He had his pay of the season, so that shouldn't be a problem, but he would prefer to save it for later in the winter.

The house turned out to be some cross between a house as Dieck was used to thinking of them, and one of the round gers that populated the Plains. Most of the houses on this set of streets were designed the same way, but this one had two banners streaming from the pinnacle of the roof, one that was indeed colored black and gold, and zigzagged in the way the edges of Shin and Sue's clothing always had.

Missing the warmth of the tea, for all its bitterness, Dieck took a breath of the freezing air, and went to the bell pull. The ring was answered almost immediately by an older man with a few more scars on his face than promised a quiet life, and wrinkles around his eyes that proclaimed that he was at least more given to smiles than frowns.

Dieck nodded pleasantly. “Hey. I was told there might be a guy named Rutger staying in this place?”

The man looked surprised, but pulled back the wicker barrier of the door. “There is—though he's not usually the person to get visitors, aside from Master Karel, of course. Come in. Hey, Rutger!” the man yelled over his shoulder. “Someone wants to see you!”

Turning away from Dieck, he went to a round stove that bisected the wall separating the ground floor into two pieces. There was a kettle on the top of the stove and a water barrel right next to it. Oh no. The stranger was getting out a clay pot that probably stored tea leaves. Dieck wasn't going to be able to survive the hospitality of the Plains for long.

He would have missed the sound of feet on the stairs, he was so wrapped up in trying to get out of more tea, but Rutger's quiet voice brought his senses back to his surroundings. “You're wearing clothes.”

“Don't sound too disappointed,” Dieck turned toward the object of his search. “Turns out it's freezing in winter.”

The glare that greeted him was the same, even after two years. Other things had changed. The dark hollows under Rutger's lower eyelids had nearly vanished—though Dieck wasn't sure if he was mixing up the last memory of Rutger with Zeiss and Miledy's friend, who made everyone look healthy and well rested in comparison. Still, Rutger was looking better than the night when he and Master Karel stole away from Bern's mausoleum of a castle—possibly the only ones not bothering to drink to Queen Guinevere's successful reign.

Well, Rutger had warned him that he would vanish. Bern and its never ending mountains and desperate people had eaten into Rutger like acid on metal. Anyone with half a moment of attention to spare could have seen that, and Dieck had just been glad that Rutger had the presence of mind to warn him. They had seen through what they needed to see through, and then they went their separate ways. You couldn't really ask for more than that.

Dieck smiled to himself as he took in the other changes. Rutger's hair was now mostly tamed in a loose ponytail, and was obviously being allowed to grow passed his shoulders. The sharp line of his jaw and chin had filled out a little more, suggesting that he was no longer burning away whatever food he managed to eat. That was good. Maybe he no longer picked at his food, either. Dieck had enjoyed shifting Rutger's light weight onto his lap and giving him food when they had been lucky enough to be welcomed with feasts after a castle was conquered, but it was a relief to know he probably wouldn't need to do it any more.

But more than physically fitting into his body, Rutger's appearance now looked as though he at least cared somewhat about it. The long jacket fit more tightly to his lithe body than the surcoat had ever managed. That couldn't just be the work of the new black sash, and his choice in cloth dye had changed from the color of drying blood to a softer rose that Dieck had heard was coming in favor among the Etrurian ladies. He's have to remember to tell Rutger that, at some point.

“Mm,” Rutger nodded towards another low table and some cushions. “Take a seat. No, sir, Dieck is my guest. I'll handle the tea.”

As Rutger dashed to the stove, ready to shoo away any help he might get, Dieck found a cushion he liked, and sat with relief. After all, he could tell Rutger to boil his own head in the tea. Still, he thought, as the young man argued with the stove and the wood box, and probably the water, Rutger looked more serious now than he ever had while at war.

Or maybe, Dieck tracked an efficient turn from stove to shelf that left the loose end of Rutger's ponytail unmoved, with each hair in place, he had both his feet in the world now. A man with a death wish was only half holding on to what the rest of the world saw and felt, after all. Rutger had always looked as though he was about to turn sideways and vanish in smoke, like a demon from Missuri legends. Okay, there was just enough shadow under his eyebrows, just enough remaining gauntness, just enough of an air of an unsprung trap left about Rutger that it was still easy to believe he would disappear between one breath and the next. But any vanishing looked as though it would be a deliberate choice, now, rather than an accidental fading out of reality because Rutger had forgotten to take a proper hold of the world that morning. Dieck liked the new solidity in Rutger's movements.

Sword calloused hands put two fine mugs on the table. A reed mat was placed with some ceremony between the mugs, and the kettle and leaf pot settled upon it before Rutger sat down. Dieck shifted over the table a little. “You know, I've had my fill of tea for a bit.”

Rutger leaned forward. “A man who doesn't take the host's drink has no protection against the host's sword.”

“Sword, huh?” Dieck raised an eyebrow. “Could be fun. You did want to see me without clothes on, after all.”

Rutger rolled his eyes. “All wrapped up is a slightly different look for you. Any new scars?”

“Nah,” Dieck shrugged. “It's been a quiet, well, mostly quiet, life for me since you left. By the way, it's not nice to send a guy letters that he can't read. Clarine read the second and third ones out loud.”

“Good thing I got all of my sentimentality out in the first one, then. How was seeing your Reglays?”

His, huh? But that was Rutger all over again, trying to tie Dieck to something more stable than a traveling mercenary contract. Remembering the postmistress, Dieck guessed this behavior was pretty universal for this part of Sacae. “Well, everyone was much the same. Lord Pent is still studying so hard he forgets to eat, and Lady Louise would be willing to support anyone who needed it. They're a good couple. You should meet them some time.”

“I don't think so,” Rutger's voice was dry, but amusement lingered in the side of his mouth.

Dieck outright slid into a grin. “Hey, the invitation is open. Just cross a few mountain ranges and take a river west, and you'll get there eventually. Mind, you probably won't see Clarine or Klein if you don't visit during the summer.”

Rutger glanced dubiously over the rim of his tea mug. He was interested, then, in the doings of his former allies. “Is there some particular reason I have to visit only in the summer season? Has Clarine declared that it is the only acceptable time for shopping?”

“Nah. The kids are just in court from autumn to early spring, now. Their parents are nice enough, but you can kinda tell when Klein and Clarine are off being nobles of the realm it worries Lord and Lady Reglay. Well, Clarine and Klein both decided to put themselves in places the Reglays have tried to avoid, you know? High court stuff and all that was not something they wanted.”

Rutger looked interested, or, at least, he was not rolling his eyes. Dieck swirled the tea in his cup, thinking it was a little weird to be talking abut people Rutge had never met, and the habits of a country Rutger had never understood. “Eh, Lady Louise is glad Clarine's decided to put her powers of obstinacy to constructive use, you know? Lord Pent's has always been worried that she would be forced to grow up too fast, but Klein's keeping a good eye on her, and Lady Louise thinks this might be better for her to be so responsible at fifteen. The kids were busy paving the way for Mildain to return and probably reign, given the old king's health, when I left.”

A cautious nod cut short the detatched gossip from Dieck's end. Rutger sipped his tea, and then set it down again, fiddling with the smooth rim of the cup. “Helping Etruria rebuild isn't on your horizon?”

“Nah. They've got enough people running around doing that. I just get to walk the streets and benefit by seeing all the good stuff of peace, y'know. By the way—that color is coming into fashion up in the northwest,” Dieck nodded at Rutger's coat.

The exasperated sigh and awkward shrug he got in return was exactly what he had expected and hoped for. “That last message you had the Reglay's scribe write out for you last summer,” Rutger paused, looking away from Dieck in as close to a show of embarrassment as Rutger probably could get. “Clarine intercepted it and sent along some swatches of fabric she told me I had to match the next time I went to get clothes made. You can tell her I followed her instructions.”

“Or _you_ could send a message back,” Dieck teased. “Tell her that a year later you're wearing perfectly approved Etrurian fashion that would have you fit in with any of the court ladies—except that your sash is sable. You'd get drowned in new sashes, or new fabric swatches.”

Rutger's fingers drifted to his waist, a slight smile toying with the edges of his mouth. “She would have to match the jacket to the sash.”

As his fingers went to the tea service again, Dieck saw a thread of sun ripened yellow cutting a thin zigzag through the black. He raised his eyebrows. Huh. “You're actually part of the Kutolah, now? I thought you'd gone off to think important thoughts about the way of the sword with Master Karel. He didn't seem interested in affiliation with any group larger than Fir and Bartre.”

“I'm here now.”

Right. The eternal struggle that was getting Rutger to explain more than the barest thoughts he had about anything returned to slap Dieck in the back of the head. Why had he forgotten this? Oh well, Rutger would not be nearly as cute if he wasn't such a mixture of shyness and bluntness. “Okay, so what happened, then? If you don't mind telling me.”

Rutger tapped the table with his index finger thoughtfully. “I suppose not. Let me see—We left Bern in the high summer and traveled to the plains for the winter. In the spring Lady Sue, Lord Dayan and Shin found us, and used our ger as a gathering point for the stray Kutolah on the Plains. Fir joined us just before we all departed. It was a lot of people, even for the destroyed village we had stumbled across to use as a camp ground. By the summer, Master Karel said I was ready to leave with the Kutolah when they began to travel again. Apparently he finds keeping students for more than a year taxing—even though I was not there to learn sword work—and Lord Dayan had said I would be welcome as a true warrior of the clan.”

Well. So he was a nomad, now. That had not come out in the last message Dieck had received—though the comment about Shin as a teacher made much more sense now. Of course, it was always possible that a message had missed Dieck since he went back to mercenary work after spending a season with the Reglays. “You've found your path thing, then? That's great.”

The mysterious new ghostly smile hovered in Rutger's eyes again. “It has been—different. I've walked a lot of the different roads Mother Earth has for the people of the plains. I've been a townsman, lost my ties much like an outcast, begun spiritual healing, and now I'm a clansman. Lady Sue says so many ways of walking is going to be the way all people of the Plains are going to be, eventually, and I'm needed in the Kutolah. That's why I'm here now—I'm to be a winter agent for the Kutolah in Bulgar. And why are you here?”

Dieck laughed, though he didn't miss that Rutger had filled his tea mug. The drifting aroma didn't smell dry like the previous tea had, though. Actually, it was a little like cinnamon bark. “I got your message last month, and you wanted to know how I was doing. I thought I'd come and tell you.”

Rutger rested his forearms on the table attentively. “And how are you?”

“Doing pretty well. You know there's a lot of work on Sacae's western border.”

Rutger snorted. “Fir told me. Zeiss asked her to be a teacher for civilians in the villages by the Talivar mountains She and Noah are apparently having _fun_ teaching the people left there to defend themselves against bandits, now that most of the army that protected the area is dead or disbanded.”

“Yeah, there's a lot of work for mercenaries in Bern, now,” Dieck nodded. “You know Hugh ended up back at the Bern Manse? Apparently Ray ran off again just after Hugh got the kids to Araphen—they left with the Lycian group a little after you did. Anyway, Hugh tracked him all the way back to the Shrine of Seals in the middle of winter. Not really sure what happened there, but Ray left with Sophia, Igrene, Fa, and, well,” there was a long pause as Dieck searched for the right words.

He was never sure how Rutger felt about the Bernian comrades they had made, and the final member of their party had been the reason the war began in the first place. Mentioning her name casually was weird, considering that she was a massively ancient dragon, but that might be enough to set Rutger off, and Dieck wanted to get used to this new more confident man. Oh well, Rutger would know who he meant. “And that other one. As soon as the passes cleared, they were gone, and Hugh managed to weasel himself a not really cushy job as head of Bern's battlemages. He keeps saying the pay is going to get better once the country recovers, but for now he's running from village to village, trying to find kids to train in magic, and stop any bandits he can.

“I don't understand where they keep coming from. I mean, sure, massive war inside the country borders and mountain land, that's bandit conditions, but they just keep on coming, and coming, and everyone's pretty used to it. I've been working with a decent group of people on the border, and we patrol around twenty villages, but yeesh. No wonder the army was so large and tough if all they did spring to autumn was hunt bandits. I'm getting a decent cut from my guild, at least, or I'd pack it in and see if King Zealot had something easier, like wolf hunting or polar bear wrangling to do.”

Rutger smothered a laugh. “You would choose Ilia when you could be staying in clement Etruria?”

Dieck waved him off. “Ilia's a good place for mercenaries. No one looks down on you, and you got all the respect you could ask for. Besides, the southern border near Sacae isn't as cold as the rest of the country. Wyverns can even fly there year 'round without special protection, if they have to.”

“That, unfortunately, I remember.”

“Hey, it's not like the campaign anymore. Most of the wyvern riders left in the world were deserters like Miledy and Zeiss. It was kinda interesting seeing them run around like Hugh—Queen Guinevere passed an edict that says all people, regardless of rank, are now free to apply to the hatcheries. I don't think it'll shake out so common kids get easily chosen for wyvern knight, but you know, I'd like to live in a world where Bern is more like Ilia than Etruria.”

Rutger shook his head. “I suppose I still have far to go. Those villages we passed through were in terrible trouble, and after the war—no one deserved bandits on their doorsteps. I don't really have the right to be mad at them.”

“Yeah? I don't really have the 'right' to be mad at the whole nobility of Etruria, particularly when I know several decent people, but,” Dieck shrugged, “I'm never going to trust them, even when they hire me. Some stuff isn't forgivable.”

“Master Karel said much the same, though I believe he was looking at it from the other side. I don't think he was ever cast out, but if ever a man was rootless,” Rutger glanced at the cooling tea as he trailed off. “He once told me he owes a lot to Bern. He keeps finding unexpected joys in its mountains.”

“I didn't know he let himself feel joy,” Dieck shrugged. “He always seemed so cool and collected. I'm glad Fir is more lively. Also, can you tell me what you mean by rootless? The postmistress who told me to go here was talking about the same thing, but she used it differently.”

Surprisingly, Rutger colored. He tended towards bronze, even without the summer sun, and Dieck had always assumed that he didn't show embarrassment easily. Now it looked as though he did blush, a blotchy unfortunate red that didn't compliment his hair or his jacket. Which really meant that he had never been truly embarrassed as far as Dieck could recall. Stars, he hadn't even been put out when Thany walked in on them in Arcadia, then?

“It describes several different conditions, but mostly it's used for people, who, through their actions, have chosen to leave where they belong. Either voluntarily, or because they did something that required them to be cast out. It's not a kind thing to say. Though we're using it now for people who've lost contact with their tribe and families thanks to the war.”

“Oh, so I'm rootless?” Dieck grinned. “Is that going to be a problem your shiny new tribal standing?”

“No!” Rutger's defensive scowl was the same as his glare. Some things about him would never change. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, you've got your self settled down so nicely, I wouldn't want to be a burden when I accepted your invitation to stay for the winter,” Dieck gazed at Rutger's reaction, which was slowly draining the blood of his last blush, a lazily smug smile creeping up his face. “Unless the scribe read that last part out wrong.”

“They did not,” Rutger lifted his tea. “A thousand blessings upon you as you take your place on this land.”

“For the winter,” Dieck reminded him, but also took a drink of his tea.

They'd taken long enough talking that the tea was cold, but the flavor was spicy, and Dieck thought it probably would have been good when hot, too. He shouldn't have been so ready to ignore it earlier. Oh well, there would be more tea over the winter, and come the spring when they parted again, they'd both be able to say good bye knowing that they'd see each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, thank you very much for reading along this entirely self-indulgent trip into Elibe with me. This wouldn't have happened if not for Ruingaraf, but the mountain has been climbed and now we are on the top of it, yes! Anyway, if anyone wants, please go out there and create more fanwork for this game. It can be so difficult to find stuff for these amazing characters (you know I'm hoping for Wendy/Lilina fic and ace!Noah fic, or just Noah-in-general fic). Anyway, thank you all, and have a great day.


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